Anything for You
by RipperShipper
Summary: The full-fic of Prompt 21 "Stay with Me." Takes place early season 6 after a tragic delivery. TW: violence, blood, death. Promise of a happy ending, though!
1. Chapter 1

**Anything for You**

 **Summary:** Back! With angst, sorry, lol. Due to interest and me realizing it was cruel to leave off Prompt 21 (Stay with Me) where I did, I'm turning it into t a full fic. Takes place early Season 6 after a failed delivery. TW: death, blood, violence.

 **A/N:** This fic is EXTREMELY angsty, but I 100% promise that I will NOT be killing anyone off. I couldn't do that. So, if you're worried about reading because of character death, fear not! Also, Chapter 1 is just Prompt 21. The new material starts in Chapter 2 and I will try to updated on a weekly basis!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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 **Chapter 1**

"How is he?"

Sister Julienne didn't have to say who. Somehow all of Nonnatus knew that Patrick hadn't come home until 5am covered in blood and sweat and with an absent look in his eyes.

"He's coping." said Shelagh sadly.

"No one blames him, you know." Sister Julienne assured.

"I know." Shelagh sighed. "I just wish he didn't blame himself."

"No one handles the loss of a mother and child well, but I think it's affected him more since Marianne passed." said Sister Julienne. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to-"

"It's alright Sister," Shelagh smiled, "Patrick and I have talked a lot about her and I don't mind. Besides, you're not wrong about him. South Africa did us both a world of good, but I think he still worries about doing more harm than help."

"Is he coming into the clinic today?" she asked.

"I told him not to, but he seemed determined this morning, so we'll have to see I suppose." replied Shelagh. "If he seems like he's not doing well, I'll take him home."

"I don't want you to over exert yourself either." Sister Julienne said affectionately with a glance down to Shelagh's now-swelling stomach.

"I won't." Shelagh smiled. "Baby has actually been quite well behaved since last night. I think he knows we need a bit of peace."

"He?" Sister Julienne questioned.

"Just a feeling." Shelagh shrugged as she sorted through the list of patients due to come in momentarily.

Sister Julienne smiled and shook her head. Sister Bernadette would've told Shelagh she couldn't possibly know the baby's gender, but then again, Sister Bernadette wouldn't be having this baby. So much had changed over the past few years, but looking at the young woman before her, Sister Julienne wouldn't have it any other way. Her daughter had come so far and her family was truly blessed.

The doors opened and both women looked up to see Patrick walk in with a haunted look in his eyes.

"Oh, Shelagh, he's in no fit state-" Sister Julienne started, but Shelagh was already walking towards her husband.

"Patrick, love," she gently grabbed his shoulder, "you don't have to be here."

"Yes I do." he argued. "I can't sit at home all day just thinking about it."

"But, darling-"

"Please, Shelagh. I promise if I can't handle it, I'll let you know. It won't be like last time. I've lost patients during childbirth before." he swore.

Shelagh sighed. She knew she wouldn't changed his mind and they had come a long way since his last breakdown. She needed to trust that he would let her know when he needed her.

"Alright." she acquiesced with a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sister Julienne gave her a questioning look when she returned to the intake table, but she shook her head. As much as she didn't like it, she understood Patrick's need to work and she would let him be as long as she could.

Half way through clinic, Patrick was actually faring much better. The patients were happy to see him and there hadn't been any catastrophes. Patsy had been the attending midwife the previous night and Shelagh was sure seeing her at work at the clinic was also motivating Patrick to be strong as well. She admired Nurse Mount and was secretly glad Patrick had been working with her during the loss rather than one of the more emotional nurses.

Shelagh saw him walk to kitchen to take a break and took the opportunity to check on him. Walking in behind him, she softly laughed as his hand habitually reached for the cigarette case that was no longer in his coat pocket and then sighed dejectedly.

"You didn't think it was funny a year ago." he said wryly.

"It's not my fault it's harder for you to quit than me." she teased as she held out a biscuit for him instead. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, actually." he affirmed. "Things are going well today."

"Yes, they are." she agreed.

"How are _you_ feeling?" he asked in turn with a glance to her stomach.

"I couldn't feel better, Patrick." she beamed. "I feel as if everything is slowly falling into place again."

"Even with Sister Ursula running amok with your filing system?" he asked with a smirk.

"I said slowly, dear." she rolled her eyes. "I'm glad to see you're clearly cheering up, even if it is at my expense."

"Never at your expense, my love." he smiled cheekily and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Doctor Turner?!" a slightly slurred voice bellowed through the hall. "Where is Doctor Turner?!"

Shelagh and Patrick looked at each other in confusion and quickly made their way into the main clinic room to find it silent except for the one, yelling voice. Patrick saw the man the voice belonged to and suddenly he wasn't alright at all. Arthur Cartwright, husband and father of the previous night's casualties, stood drunk and fuming before the entrance to the clinic.

"Mr. Cartwright." Patrick spoke evenly. "You shouldn't be here."

"No, you shouldn't be here!" he barked. "How can you lot trust him when he's a killer?"

"Mr. Cartwright, you're drunk." Patrick tried to reason. "You're hurting and you need to go home."

"I have nothing at home because of you and that girl." he spat, indicating Patsy.

The mothers throughout the clinic instinctively tried to gather their children, but it only angered him.

"Don't move!" he shouted.

"Don't you threaten them, they didn't do anything!" Patrick snapped as he walked towards Mr. Cartwright. Shelagh paled as she saw the crazed man reach for his pants pocket.

"Patrick, stop!" she screamed at the same time Mr. Cartwright drew the gun he'd stolen from his brother's ship and pointed it at Patrick.

The entire room seized with tension and Shelagh clenched her hand against her stomach.

"Arthur," Patrick spoke slowly and calmly despite the rapid beating of his heart, "you don't want to do this. Killing me won't bring them back."

He saw Mr. Cartwright's gaze flit to the left towards Shelagh and instantly, Patrick knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"I know. I don't want to kill you. I want you to know what it feels like to lose them." Arthur grimaced.

"No!" Patrick wasn't even aware of his body moving. All he saw was the split second it took for Mr. Cartwright to point the gun at Shelagh and then all he felt was gut-wrenching pain rip through his side as he threw himself in front of her and their unborn child.

"Patrick!" Shelagh screamed as she threw herself to the floor beside him.

"Police!" Barbara had managed to sneak out at grab the nearest constable, but it was too little too late. The constable immediately apprehended Arthur Cartwright, who didn't even struggle he was so shocked that he'd actually pulled the trigger.

Around her, Shelagh barely heard the chaos of yelling and running. She thought she heard someone shout for an ambulance, but she couldn't be sure. Her entire world had closed in on the man she loved and how she knew in the back of her head that she needed to keep pressure on his side even though the warm blood against her hands made her want to wretch.

"Patrick, please." she cried. "Please stay with me. I love you. We love you."

She felt his hand squeeze against hers as he fought to hold onto consciousness.

"Won't...leave…you…" he forced out before he let himself be taken under. The pain was too great to handle, but he would see her again in the hospital when he woke up. He had to. He had to stay with her.

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New material starts next chapter! Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay, here we go with new material. I promise there are happier times to come!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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 **Chapter 2**

" _Shelagh. Shelagh, you have to move."_

Sister Julienne's voice floated around her ears as if from another world. It had to be. Only in another world would Sister Julienne ever be so cruel as to ask her to leave Patrick's side.

" _Mrs. Turner, the ambulance is here. Let them help him."_

Phyllis? Shelagh thought she recognized the stern nurse's tone, but it still didn't make sense. Couldn't they see she couldn't leave him? Couldn't they understand that the only proof she had that he was still alive rested in the pulse beneath her bloody palms? She couldn't lose that, couldn't lose him. His unconscious face held nothing of the passion and intelligence she'd come to associate with her husband and if she stopped feeling his pulse… no, she wouldn't let go.

" _Sister, we need to get him to the hospital."_

" _I understand that."_

" _Make_ her _understand, then. She's done well putting pressure on the wound, but his chances are slim to none if we can't get him out of here."_

No, they would not take him away from her. Not now, not with their child finally on the way.

Sister Julienne's hands gently grasped her shoulders and she felt a stranger's gloved hands cover her own, still glued to Patrick's stomach. It wasn't until Sister Julienne started pulling her backwards that she fully realized what was happening.

"Stop it!" Shelagh screamed fearfully as the Sister's grip on her shoulders became more insistent. "He needs me, you can't do this!" Sister Julienne hadn't counted on Shelagh being that physically strong and she gasped as the sobbing woman on the floor wrenched her body away and anchored herself even further to her husband. The older nun paused, not knowing if she could cause Shelagh more pain, but the emergency responder and Nurse Crane were far less empathetic. Pulling Shelagh away now would be a hurtful betrayal, but it would be forgiven. Letting Patrick die would be...well, none of them could think that far.

"You'll thank us for this later, lass, I'm sorry." Phyllis braced herself and before Shelagh could stop her, wrapped her arms firmly around the younger woman's chest and pulled back as hard as she could. The cry that lurched from Shelagh's throat when her grasping fingers couldn't feel Patrick anymore shook even Phyllis for a moment, but she held her ground. She had Shelagh's arms trapped against her body, but her legs were still fighting to drag herself back to her husband with a fiery strength fueled by grief and fury. "Sister Julienne!" Phyllis snapped.

Sister Julienne forced herself to look away from Patrick and find whatever inner strength she had left. She was horribly out of her emotional depth. She had been afraid for Shelagh before; during her fight with TB, during her infertility diagnosis, during her and Patrick's various fights. Never before, however, had she knowingly had to cause her daughter pain in the name of the greater good. She was woefully underprepared for the feeling, and it felt like no matter what decision she made in the next moment, she was going to fail someone. She met Phyllis' eyes. _Better she hates you now and he lives._ She knew her colleague was right, but it didn't make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, she stepped quickly between Shelagh and her view of Patrick being loaded onto a gurney and tried to calm her.

"Shelagh, dear, please, you have to calm down and think of baby." she reached out to hold her and her heart shattered when Shelagh turned away from her touch.

"You took him away!" Shelagh cried. "How could you do that?"

"He needs their help, lass." Phyllis tried to assure her. Her hold on the squirming Scot was still strong, but she could feel Shelagh's will fading as Patrick was pulled further and further away.

"I can't lose him!" Shelagh sobbed and her legs gave out as Patrick's body was pulled out of sight and reality came crashing down on top of her. "You can't let them take him from me."

Sister Julienne knelt on the floor and Phyllis gently lowered Shelagh into her arms where she crumbled. Across the room, Patsy, Trixie, and Barbara stood holding each other. Phyllis took a moment to look about the room. It was amazing how a split second could change a world. They worked with the mess of life and death day in and day out, and yet none of them ever really stopped to think about it affecting one of their own. This morning, they'd made Patsy a cup of Horlicks and told her they were there if she needed to talk about the tragic Cartwright birth, but they all knew it would pass. They'd all faced losses, and it was always sad, but there was always another baby to be born. That grief existed on another plane that they couldn't be brought down into or they would never recover. Now, that grief and fear was far more than palpable. Dr. Turner was a pillar of the community and as Phyllis gazed at the horror-filled faces of nurses, nuns, and mothers around the center, she realized she didn't know just how much he'd come to mean to her as well.

But that was a matter for a later hour of solitude.

She put on her strongest mask and began to put things right. It was the only thing she knew how to do in a crisis.

"Nurse Franklin," she walked briskly over to the other nurses, "I think it might be a moment before Mrs. Turner is ready and able to go to hospital. Would you mind-"

"-getting Timothy and Angela?" Trixie finished her sentence knowingly and compassionately through her tears. Sometimes, Phyllis forgot just how close they all were. "Of course." Trixie paused and looked beyond Phyllis towards Shelagh and Sister Julienne. "I think I'll bring them to Nonnatus House. They don't need to be here. Shelagh can come for them when she's ready." The other nurses' eyes followed Trixie's line of sight and realized she wasn't just referring to the younger Turner's distraught mum. Shelagh and Sister Julienne were mere feet away from a disturbingly large pool of blood. The four nodded in agreement and Trixie set off for Timothy's school.

Patsy sighed as Barbara reached out to take Phyllis' shaking hand.

"I fear there's work to be done." Patsy whispered, eyes solemnly looking between the blood and the mop closet.

"How?" Barbara cried.

"We're going to have to find out." Phyllis closed her eyes. It hadn't been this hard to keep control in some time, but she had to. They all had to.

Sister Julienne gazed at them across the bloody tiles with Shelagh still shaking in her embrace.

They had a long journey ahead.

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This is going to probably be a slow and emotional ride, but it's helping me work through some real life angst, so yay? Again, I PROMISE this ends happily! Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for the lovely response to this story! I hope you enjoy this new installment. :)

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Everything about him felt heavy. Even saddled with bags of supplies that weighed as much as he did and living on military rations during the war, he had never felt this heavy. He couldn't move his limbs and a massive weight pressed painfully against his chest. His eyelids burned against his efforts to open them, his breath escaped him in nearly invisible spurts, and his blood felt like sludge in his veins. Everything was pain and weight and darkness. He wanted to think, to find some way to escape from whatever hell this was, but even his head closed in around him and it was all he could do to stay aware.

" _Patrick?"_

A woman's voice called his name, but he couldn't find her; couldn't see, couldn't feel. God, he was so tired.

" _Patrick, my love?"_

'Shelagh?' Her name was only two syllables of thought, but it was enough to make his brain pound with overexertion and chase her from his mind. His heart fought back. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't with her and she was looking for him, and that couldn't be right.

" _Patrick, darling, it's okay. Let go."_

Her voice was so soothing and it made the air smell like honeysuckle and he was so, so tired.

" _Let go, sweetheart."_

The anchors of his body gave way to weightlessness and suddenly, there was no more pain.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, he was on the seaside. All pain was a distant memory, replaced instead by warm sand, turquoise seas, a soft breeze, and...he was missing his shoes. Where had they gone? How did he get here?

"Patrick Turner, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

The melodious voice from before stirred his memory, only now he knew it wasn't Shelagh calling for him.

"Marianne?" he whispered in awe. He turned towards the beloved voice he hadn't heard in years and he couldn't breathe. His late wife stood before him on the beach, as lovely as she'd ever been. Her soft, brown hair fell longer than he remembered, but her eyes still shone and her skin glowed. She looked the way he always tried to remember her - before illness had robbed her of so much. Awe, though, soon turned to horror. If she was here… "Am I...is this…?" he stuttered, to terrified to ask the question on his lips. She seemed to understand.

"No, darling." she promised. "Not yet." Beneath the comfort of her words lay a tinge of disappointment and he knew she was telling the truth. He couldn't blame her. Were there positions reversed, no matter how much he would want her to live a full life, there would always be a part of him that wanted her to stay by his side.

"If this isn't...where are we?" he asked. His memory was still foggy from wherever he'd been before the beach.

"You don't recognize it?" she asked honestly.

"Should I?" he asked, suddenly horrified that it was a place that once meant something to them and that he'd hurt her by forgetting. She smiled, though, and his worry faded.

"Don't worry Patrick, I've never seen this place before." she laughed. She knew him far too well. He would always worry he'd made a mistake or said the wrong thing. He wanted to make everything right. It was one of the things that endeared him to her. It was one of the things she knew endeared him to Shelagh.

"I've been here." he said quietly. She waited for him to continue. His eyes seemed lost in time and his fingers sifted thoughtfully through the sand. "It didn't look like this, though. I never thought it could look beautiful."

"Is this Italy?" Marianne asked, realizing. "You never told me about it."

"I never told anyone about it." he mumbled regretfully. "At least not until it was too late." His shoulders tensed and she gave into the urge to touch him, even he wasn't really there. Her hands on his skin felt like heaven. He chuckled to himself at the thought. "Marianne, how can you be here?"

"I don't know." she admitted. "I sensed you were in danger and suddenly, I was here, waiting for you."

"Am I dying?" he asked fearfully. "Is that why I'm here?"

"I don't know, my love, I'm sorry." she took his hand and was surprised that her heart didn't clench at the sight of his new wedding band. She'd told him when she was dying that she wanted him to find love and move on, but she never thought she'd have to see the results. Life after death was peculiar that way.

"But you told me to let go." he argued, quickly growing frustrated and scared at the lack of answers. The more he sat, the more he remembered, and the more he wanted to get back to Shelagh, no matter how wonderful having Marianne felt.

"You were in terrible pain." she sighed. "I could never stand to see you in pain. I just wanted you to stop hurting. I wish I had more answers for you. I can't see everything that's happening, I wish I could. For all I know, you might be dying and I can't comfort you." Tears fell from her eyes and he knew for certain he couldn't be in Heaven. Heaven couldn't be a place where Marianne cried.

"You always comforted me." he assured. "You still do, you know?" she looked up at him in a silent plea to continue. "There were so many things I couldn't tell you when you were alive that I found I could tell you in death. I don't know that I believed you could hear me, but maybe that made it easier."

"I've heard you sometimes." she admitted. "Not all the time, but sometimes I suppose the feelings are strong enough that I can't help it." she paused. She didn't want to keep him, though, truthfully, she suspected that he would leave when it was time and there were things she had to know. "How is Timothy?" she asked tearfully.

"He misses his mummy." he answered truthfully. There was so much he wanted to say and now he didn't know how to say any of it. "Shelagh's helped him a lot with remembering...I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Patrick, no, you don't have to feel ashamed. I _asked_ you to find love again, remember?" she teased a bit, hoping to encourage him. The truth was, she really didn't get many glimpses into her earthly family and she didn't have many memories of Shelagh (well, Sister Bernadette). She was curious. "She's made you smile again, and I will be forever grateful to her for that."

Patrick smiled. He still didn't know if any of this was real, but he still struggled at times with reconciling his love for Marianne and his love for Shelagh and having Marianne's blessing soothed an ache he'd forgotten he had.

"She has." he agreed. "She lost her mum when she was little as well. I think it's why Tim trusts her so much." Marianne nodded her approval. She always knew she liked the little Scottish nun.

"You have a daughter now, yes?" she asked. She was pretty sure, but so much was muddled in this place and sometimes it was hard to keep track of earthly reality.

"Angela Julienne." Patrick beamed. "We adopted her."

"Adopted?" Marianne asked with great interest. Patrick had always wanted more children, but they'd never discussed adoption.

"Shelagh's TB left her with pelvic scarring. We found out a few months after we were married." his gaze turned solemn and Marianne squeezed his hand once more. Patrick froze. Marianne watched his face intentedly. Something must have come back to him. "Can't have children...pregnant…" he muttered fearfully.

"Marianne do you-ah!" he gasped mid question and his hand shot to his side. He couldn't see an injury to explain the searing pain. "What's happen-aaah!" His skin burned and he could feel his muscles tear under his clenched hand. He looked up at Marianne through blurred eyes and reached out for her in vain. His hand passed clean through her body. "Marianne!"

"They're calling you back, Patrick. You have to go." she cried at the thought of losing him again, but it wasn't fair to keep him. He had a family; their family, to get back to.

"Love you." he choked out as he faded away. Marianne felt the sand on her feet for a few more moments before she too, disappeared with a whispered declaration of love on her lips.

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Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Summary:** Timothy finds out.

 **A/N:** We are still in super angst mode for a few more chapters, sorry guys! I know it means nothing, but I swear better times are on the horizon!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Timothy Turner was having a terrible day. It started out bad and it just got worse. Normally, when Shelagh or Patrick came home in the middle of the night because of a case, they went out of their way to be quiet and not wake him or Angela, so, when his dad trampled into the flat at 5am, knocked over the coat rack, and let loose several words Tim knew he wasn't allowed to say, he knew it was very bad. He'd stayed in bed and listened as his mum hurriedly tiptoed to the front door, probably trying to shush his dad before Angela woke. She was usually fine, but ever since the announcement of a new baby, she'd been particularly needy and if she woke in the middle of the night, it was a sure bet that she'd spend the rest of it in her parents' room.

"Timmy?"

Angela's small voice from across their cramped room brought him fully into awareness and he crossed dutifully to her bed in preparation for tears when Shelagh inevitably didn't come running. It was definitely annoying sharing a room with his little sister, but he didn't mind it in times like these. He'd become a bit of a parent when his mummy died and it brought him a strange sense of comfort to be able to look out for Angela like this.

As expected, she cried into his pajamas when she called out for Shelagh and wasn't immediately rewarded for her efforts. Tim held her close and tried to explain that mum would come soon, but she had to look after dad first. Angela was not at all satisfied with that explanation and continued to sob until Shelagh finally came to check on them. Tim wished there was a way to explain to Angela that she couldn't be that dependent on their parents. It wasn't that they weren't loving (in fact, Tim would argue they were possibly the most loving parents in Poplar), it was just that they loved _everyone_. He'd learned a long time ago that while there wasn't anything Shelagh or Patrick wouldn't do for him, there also wasn't anything they wouldn't do for each other, or Angela, or their patients, or their co-workers, and they simply couldn't be everywhere at once. It was okay, he knew they would eventually come, but he also knew he and Angela weren't always priority number one at any given moment and that was a price he was willing to pay for his parents' devotion, passion, and intelligence. Angela couldn't understand that yet, but she would.

It was almost 6am by the time Shelagh came in to hug him gratefully and take Angela down the hall to the master bedroom, so he never fell back asleep. He'd made himself breakfast so Shelagh could rest and burned his toast in the process, then, he missed his bus by a fraction of a second and had to wait for the next one, which left him terribly late for school and humiliated by Ms. Plackard in front of Caroline. In his second class, he found out he hadn't done as well on his last test as he thought and he spend the rest of the hour bitterly dreading the conversation with his father since he'd assured him that he was prepared last week when he wanted to go out with his friends. He'd forgotten his packed lunch on the kitchen table and couldn't stomach the idea of whatever slop the school was going to provide, so, he was now sitting in his fourth class, absolutely starving.

He had just realized he had no idea which war his teacher was prattling on about when the headmistress burst into the room without knocking and blatantly interrupted the lecture.

"Timothy Turner, come with me." The only thing that prevented Tim from rolling his eyes at being called into the headmistress' office was the actual emotion in her voice. Ms. Collins never showed emotion, not ever, not when students were accepted into top universities, and not when they were expelled. Now though, now, she looked horrified. Tim's stomach dropped and he followed without questioning.

The clack of Ms. Collins' heels on the hallway tiles echoed in his ears and he could feel the anxiety building in him with every step. She still hadn't told him why she pulled him out of class, but she was awfully pale and wouldn't meet his eye. What on earth was going on? He was going to dare to ask when she pushed open her office door, but the sight of Nurse Franklin sitting before him with bloodshot eyes stopped his mouth. There was pity in her gaze. The kind of pity he hadn't seen from anyone since... _no._ No, that wasn't possible.

"Timothy…" Trixie sensed his panic, but she knew she wouldn't be able to calm him now. He would just have to be told the truth.

"What happened?" he insisted. Trixie didn't answer immediately. Standing before the little boy she'd know since he was a child, she couldn't find the words. "Just tell me!" Tim shouted, his fear overwhelming any sense of propriety he felt with either of the women.

"Your father's been hurt." Trixie whispered simply. "He's on his way to the London n-"

"How bad is it?" Tim cut her off. Trixie and Ms. Collins looked down at the floor and it infuriated him. Why couldn't people just tell the truth without trying to hide anything? "How bad is it?" He asked again, fear partly giving way to anger as he felt himself fighting tears. "If you're here to get me instead of mum, then it must be really...is he going to be okay? Is mum with him? Where's Angela? How did he get hurt?" The questions spilled out of him in a desperate need for answers. Trixie felt her strength grow as Tim's faltered. Hadn't it always been that way for her? Only able to take charge when other's needed help? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

"He's been shot, Timothy." she finally revealed. She pushed forward at his gasp. She had to keep going or she would cry again. "We don't know how bad it is yet, and we won't know until he's out of surgery. Nurse Mount is at the hospital with him now."

"Why isn't mum there? Was she hurt too?" Tim's heart started racing at the thought of losing both of them. He didn't think he was strong enough for that. But, he supposed, he didn't think he was strong enough to lose his first mother. He didn't want to know if he needed to be strong, though.

"Shelagh's safe." Trixie quickly assured him. "She's very shaken up, though. Sister Julienne took her back to Nonnatus house and that's where I'm going to take you after we pick up Angela."

"I want to go to the London." Timothy insisted. He was still fighting back tears. He wouldn't break in front of Ms. Collins and Nurse Franklin. Not when his dad was fighting for his life.

"I know you do," Trixie nodded, "but we have to get your sister and go to Nonnatus first." Timothy opened his mouth to fight her, but she shook her head. "Your dad won't be out of surgery for sometime," she explained, "and in the meantime, you need to be with your mum and Angela, alright sweetie?"

Under any other circumstances, Tim would've given cheek at the term of endearment, but today, it felt oddly comforting. His mind and heart were still racing so badly that he didn't even register Caroline quietly handing his bag to Ms. Collins through the cracked-open door and her soft whisper of 'i'm sorry.' Instead, all he could feel was an unrelenting wave of guilt. He'd spent the day being irritated and annoyed by minor inconveniences while his father almost died and while he knew there was nothing he could've done about it, he couldn't help the fear that the last thing he said to Patrick was something snarky about wanting a later curfew.

He would make up for it now, though. He would pull himself together in the walk between his school and Angela's nursery and he would be there to support Shelagh because it was what he needed to do. He was no good at mourning, but he knew how to take care of a mourning parent, and if that was the path the day was about to take, then by god, he would be prepared.

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Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **Summary:** Shelagh, Tim, Angela, and the family at Nonnatus House while Patrick is in surgery.

 **A/N:** Okay, there is a tiny bit of cuteness and a dash of hope in this one! It's still an angst story, but this chapter is not 100% angst. :D Thank you so much for your incredible reviews! They seriously mean the world!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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" _Please will you be my dad?" he asked in confusion. She could only smile and nod, words having escaped her hours earlier. She didn't know if there were words to describe how she was feeling. Even 'miracle' didn't seem a good enough word._

 _He spun her a bit and held her so delicately, as if he was terrified he might ruin it all with a single touch. She barely noticed. Her own hands rested on his arms, but her focus was all on his eyes. How long ago had she told him all she wanted was to see his face when she told him she was pregnant? It felt like a lifetime ago. That dream belonged to a woman she'd forgotten existed and yet, here he was, looking at her like she'd given him the entire world, sun, and stars._

 _He was the first to regain the ability to speak._

" _How long?" he whispered as he caressed her cheek so gently she nearly didn't feel it._

" _Eight weeks." she grinned. His eyebrow rose and she knew he was as amused as she was._

" _Well, you were right, South Africa was certainly good for both of us." he teased her lightly, but his voice still trembled with wonder. She blushed and turned her face to the floor out of habit, but he reached up and held her chin tall. "Shelagh, my love, there's no need to be embarrassed. This is…this baby is the most remarkable thing I could ever have imagined and everyone else is going to feel the same way."_

" _Are you sure?" she asked shyly. He knew she was worried about what people would think about them having relations despite her infertility, but he truly didn't think anyone would care. Perhaps the odd stare here and there, but everyone who mattered to them would be thrilled._

" _I am. Have you told anyone else?"_

 _She looked sheepish for a moment, as though guilty for not telling him first, but his question held no malice._

" _Sister Julienne. I didn't mean to, but she gave me tea and the milk made me nauseous, and one thing lead to another." She admitted. He nodded happily. Shelagh smiled. "Oh Patrick, she was so thrilled."_

" _And everyone else will be as well." He promised. "We've waited so long for this, my love, and fought so many battles. I think good things might be happening at last. Nothing is going to take this from us."_

 _Shelagh surged forward to kiss him and made a slight groan of frustration when he wouldn't melt into the embrace the way she was anticipating. She pulled away and pursed her lips._

" _I'm sorry, darling, I'm just so afraid of-"_

" _Patrick, you just said nothing would take this from us." She reminded him. "I'm confident that includes kissing your wife."_

" _I have always admired your confidence." He chuckled before gathering her up into his arms and lavishing her with the kiss she'd wanted since she walked through the surgery door._

" _Mmm, Patrick." She sighed against his mouth._

 _She felt him pull away again and she opened her eyes to protest, but he wasn't standing before her._

" _Patrick?"_

 _She looked down. He lay on the floor beneath her, skin pale and cold as ice as a puddle of crimson formed below his body._

" _Patrick!" she screamed. "Somebody help us!"_

 _No one came._

" _Please, no! Patrick!"_

"Patrick! Help! Help!"

Sister Julienne was out of her chair in seconds and she knew reinforcements would be arriving at any moment. Shelagh had cried herself to sleep a little while earlier and Sister Julienne hadn't left her side since. The only thing even slightly appeasing her was knowing Shelagh was safe here in Nonnatus even if nothing else was right in their world.

"Shelagh, my dear, shh, it's alright, you're having a nightmare." Sister Julienne held Shelagh's thrashing arms to the bed so she wouldn't hurt herself. Her heart ached at what she knew Shelagh must be dreaming about, but this was different. She could help Shelagh with a nightmare, though, reality wasn't necessarily any more comforting.

"Somebody help, please!" Shelagh cried out as Sister Julienne continued to hold her down. Her skin was flushed with sweat and her breathing was far too quick for the nun's liking given her pregnancy.

Phyllis and Barbara hurried into the room from down the hall and Sister Julienne quickly beckoned them forward, though it wasn't needed. Phyllis quickly took over holding Shelagh's left side and Sister Julienne resituated to hold her right and continue to soothe her.

"Barbara, there's a cloth and a bowl of water on the nightstand, I don't like how warm she is." Phyllis indicated. Her face held its daily stoicism, but she couldn't completely hide her heartfelt concern. Throughout the Thalidomide scandal and whilst in South Africa, her relationship with Shelagh had grown considerably. Not only that, but since returning to Nonnatus and speaking with Barbara, Phyllis couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if it was her own pseudo-daughter on the bed before her with Tom in the hospital and the idea was haunting her more than she wanted to admit. Sister Julienne needed her help now more than ever.

Barbara diligently grabbed the cloth with none of her standard clumsiness and moved to Phyllis' side of the bed. Whatever Sister Julienne was whispering in Shelagh's ear was working a bit to slow her ragged breathing, but her pulse was still high, her skin still radiated heat, and she still had yet to wake. Her screams turned to soft whimpers.

"I…sorry Patrick…I broke…promise."

"Shelagh, no, you didn't do anything wrong." Sister Julienne assured through teary eyes and a crackled voice. "We're here, we're right here with you, just wake up."

Barbara stood again and went to grab the bowl to rewet the cloth, but thought another course of action might be better suited half way back to her post. Without warning Sister Julienne or Phyllis, Barbara hurled the contents of the bowl over Shelagh's face. The two older women leapt back reflexively and moved to scold Barbara, but their chiding was silenced as Shelagh frantically blinked awake.

"Patrick?" she asked instinctively.

"Sorry, it's just us." Barbara apologized. "And sorry about the water. We couldn't wake you and we were getting worried."

Shelagh didn't accept the apology, but Barbara wasn't offended. Her attention, like the other nurses' was on their patient, who seemed to slowly be realizing what reality she'd woken to.

"It really happened." Shelagh whispered. She was surprised when she didn't feel tears on her face, only the pain of clenched tear ducts. Apparently she was too dehydrated and exhausted to cry. She hadn't felt like that in years. She felt Sister Julienne move beside her to let her head fall against her shoulder and she didn't fight the motion. Feeling the touch of someone she loved, even if it wasn't the one she wanted, felt better than nothing. "Where's Patrick?"

She wasn't even sure she wanted the answer. The last thing she remembered was Patrick on the floor, losing blood, just like her nightmare. For all she knew, he could be-

"He's at the London." Phyllis quickly answered, sensing her train of thought. "Nurse Mount is there as well and she's set to call as soon as there's any new information." Shelagh slightly nodded and Phyllis took that as as good of a cue as she was going to get to continue. "Nurse Franklin fetched Timothy and Angela for you. They're downstairs with her and Sister Monica Joan. I'll drive the three of you to hospital when you feel ready."

Shelagh squeezed Sister Julienne's hand as tightly as she could. Guilt flooded her body. She hadn't even thought of Timothy and Angela until now; she was too preoccupied with the idea of losing her husband that she didn't stop to consider her children would be losing a father. What kind of mother did that make her? How could she possibly deserve to bring yet another child into her home when her two current children needed her and she could barely speak? She felt her panic returning.

"Lass, you have to breathe." Phyllis tried to keep her from hyperventilating again. "Breathe with Sister Julienne, alright? In," the four women collectively inhaled and exhaled, "and out. Good. One more time." Phyllis instructed and they did it again. Shelagh's breathing calmed. She was nowhere near okay, but there was something about being surrounded and supported by Nonnatun women that she couldn't help but be reassured by. The living breath of her family, all her family, would get her through this.

"I want to call Patsy." Shelagh whispered. "Can we call her?"

"Of course." Barbara agreed. "I'll ring the London. Can I get you anything, Shelagh?" Shelagh looked to the younger nurse and was blown over by the earnestness in her eyes. They would get her anything she ever wanted or needed. They would be strong when she couldn't be and hold her up when she wanted to try.

"No, thank you, Barbara." she replied. "For everything."

Barbara nodded and hurried away to the phone. Shelagh looked between Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne.

"How long has he been in surgery?" she asked quietly, but with no uncertainty that she was going to fight her way back to usefulness.

"A little over two hours now." Sister Julienne replied gently. Phyllis nodded to confirm the timing.

"Nurse Mount won't let anything slide." Phyllis said. "You know she'll know as much as the doctors do the whole time." Shelagh nodded.

"You said Timothy and Angela are downstairs?" she asked.

"Yes, but you don't have to rush yourself, my dear." Sister Julienne said. "Angela doesn't fully know what's going on and Timothy understands that you need time." Shelagh shook her head and sat up before glancing around for her shoes. They were neatly on the right side of the bed. Sister Julienne must have taken them off after she fell asleep.

"No, I need to see them." Shelagh insisted, pulling on her shoes. "Timothy must be petrified, I need to make sure he's alright."

Phyllis went to protest, but Sister Julienne shook her head and sighed. ' _She's going to do it anyway, let her be.'_ Phyllis lowered her hand and watched Shelagh put herself together, literally and figuratively. She had to hand it to younger woman, she didn't know many people who could do that as well as she could. Phyllis knew the motions - they all did, in their own way - fix your hair, straighten your belt, wipe off your shoes. Present a picture no one would ever think you painted to cover the cracks beneath, and eventually, the cracks might disappear. Shelagh had decided she was going to be strong for her children's sake and that decision was unshakeable. She would wear her heels and twist her hair if it meant putting others at ease and Phyllis and Sister Julienne both admired her for it, even if they didn't think it was wise.

Shelagh's hands traveled from her hair to her waist to straighten her dress and she paused.

"These aren't my clothes." Shelagh observed. "What happened to my clothes?" Her fingers ran along the soft, dark blue material, investigating it. Sister Julienne took a deep breath.

"It's one of Nurse Franklin's dresses." she explained gently. "Your clothes were...they were no longer suitable."

"No longer-oh." Shelagh remembered. Her own light skirt suit from earlier would've been soaked in blood. She blocked the notion from her mind and thanked God for whoever decided to change her dress. She wouldn't have been able to handle waking in fabric weighed down by Patrick's blood. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble at all." Sister Julienne promised. "Now, why don't you head downstairs and I'll see to a few cups of Horlicks for you and the children?" She placed her hand on Shelagh's back as an encouragement and reassurance.

"Thank you, Sister." Shelagh whispered. Sister Julienne nodded and ducked through the doorway before her own tears started to fall. Phyllis followed with the towel and bowl in hand.

"I'll get this cleaned up." She said. "There's no rush at all, Mrs. Turner. Whenever you and the children are ready, you let me know."

"Thank you, Phyllis." Shelagh said with soft squeeze to the older woman's arm. "And it's Shelagh, please." Phyllis nodded warmly and headed to the kitchen. Shelagh held her hands together tightly as she stepped out of the bedroom as though they might hold the rest of her steady.

The sight that greeted her downstairs was painful, but expected. Despite how scared she knew Tim would be, it didn't surprise her that he too was doing everything he could to stay strong for Angela. Her daughter clearly didn't understand her daddy was in trouble. Angela lay on the floor of the sitting room with her trusty colored pencils in hand and a jumble of papers before her. Timothy sat beside her and would add whatever she instructed to the newest drawing. Shelagh stood in the shadows and watched, not quite ready to dive into the emotional onslaught she knew was coming.

"No, Timmy, green!" Angela exclaimed as she held out her tiny hand to stop Tim before he reached the paper with his blue pencil. Tim smiled, but it was tense and forced. He did his duty, though, and replaced the blue pencil with a green one and began to color. Shelagh couldn't make out the drawing from her hiding place, but Angela was approaching it with the utmost focus. She colored delicately and waited for Tim to finish his part. With a critical eye, she examined the finished piece. "Done!" She proclaimed and added the drawing to a growing pile of completed projects.

"Good job, Ange." Tim praised. Shelagh saw his shoulders tremble. Her poor, sweet boy. He wasn't doing any better than she was.

"What are you two working on?" She stepped into the room.

"Mummy!" Angela ran to her and hug her tight, her head pressed hard into Shelagh's hip. Timothy looked up at her. It amazed her that the same silent conversational skills she shared with Patrick were so easily passed to his son. ' _I'm scared.' 'I know. Me too.' 'What's happening?' 'I don't know.'_ Shelagh looked away from Tim to gather herself before kneeling down to Angela's level.

"Hello, Angel Girl, have you been keeping Nurse Trixie and Sister Monica Joan company?" She knew Trixie, at least, was looking at her with utter love and sympathy and she couldn't face that just now, so she kept her gaze on Angela.

"We colored!" The youngest Turner explained as she ran to her pile. "This one for you, Mummy." Angela handed Shelagh the drawing she'd just finished. Shelagh tenderly took the drawing and smiled for the first time in hours. It was a bit rough, as all three year old drawings were want to be, but Shelagh could make out Angela herself (by the giant piles of yellow hair she always gave her self portraits) holding what appeared to be a baby in a blanket. "Baby." Angela explained, pointing to the bundle.

"Yes dearest, baby." Shelagh agreed, hand traveling unconsciously to her stomach. They'd just told Timothy and Angela about the baby and assumed she didn't really understand, but apparently she did. _God, please let Patrick live to see this._ She prayed. Her eyes stung. _Forward, Shelagh, forward._ "It's lovely, Angela."

"Timmy, one for daddy!" Angela instructed as she ran back to her spot on the floor before Shelagh could try to explain that they needed to stop coloring. Before she had to explain that they needed to go to the hospital because there was a chance Angela wouldn't get to give Patrick a drawing ever again.

"Ange, I think we need to stop for today and listen to mum." Tim tried. His own fear had his patience hanging by a thread. He'd been told as much as Shelagh - that Patsy was at the hospital and would call when she knew anything. He'd seen Barbara head to the phone, though, and eavesdropped enough to know that she was trying to get someone from the hospital on the line. He needed answers.

"Noo, Timmy." Angela protested, grabbing several pencils in her small fist in rebellion. Tim felt her words tug at his underlying anger.

"Angela, it's grown-up time. We have to put the colors away." He tried again, his tone sharper than normal with his sister.

"It's alright sweetie, we can color later, I promise." Trixie moved forward to intervene. Tensions were high enough and Tim would never forgive himself if he snapped at Angela. "Here, why don't you come with me and we can help Sister Julienne in the kitchen, hmm?" Angela looked skeptical, but relented and Shelagh sent a thankful glance to Trixie.

"I am anxious to see what the little one creates for sustenance." Sister Monica Joan stated. "I shall observe her methods." The nun followed into the kitchen, leaving Timothy and Shelagh alone. Tim waited until the door closed.

"Mum." he sighed and ran to Shelagh. He wouldn't let himself break, but he held her closer than she could ever remember. Shelagh eased them over to the couch and held him as she ran her hand back and forth across his back.

"I'm here, Tim, I won't leave you." She whispered. Tim nodded into her shoulder. He needed this, needed her. Shelagh didn't come with promises of 'it's all going to be alright' or 'just let it out'. Shelagh came with the promise that she wouldn't leave him, no matter what the outcome. Hurried footsteps echoed into the sitting room and mother and son looked up to see Barbara. Their hearts raced.

"Did you reach the hospital?" Shelagh asked anxiously.

Barbara shook her head.

"I tried, but no one would tell me anything." she explained sadly. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Tim said. "That means he could still be okay, right?" Shelagh squeezed Tim's hand. He was being so incredibly brave and as much as it broke her heart, she couldn't be prouder.

"Yes, he could still be alright." She agreed. "Barbara, could you do me one more favor and possibly find Phyllis? I'd like to head to the London as soon as possible."

"Absolutely." Barbara rushed off to the kitchen, ever grateful to be helpful in a crisis.

"Tim, I know it may still be some time before we know anything, but-"

"I want to come." He insisted. "I have to." Shelagh smiled in understanding. Her brave, determined cub.

The shrill of the telephone broke the resolved silence and they watched Barbara run back down the hall to answer it with bated breath.

"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking." She spoke quickly into the receiver. She truly hoped it wasn't a patient, for everyone's sake.

Shelagh and Timothy stared at the doorway, hands clasped. Finally, Barbara ran back to them.

"That was Patsy," she exclaimed happily, "he's out of surgery."

* * *

Patrick lives! Or, at least, he's out of surgery. Interpret how you will. We're off to the hospital in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **Summary:** Patsy waits for news.

 **A/N:** So, this is a bit of a short alternate perspective chapter to the previous chapter. Shelagh and the kids will arrive at the hospital in the next chapter. I was going to combine them, but this one really wanted to be on its own.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

She tried every trick in her book to go with him into the operating room, but the surgeon wasn't a friend of hers and it seemed there was a bit of a stigma against the highly qualified nurse who 'abandoned her prestigious hospital position for the grime of East End midwifery'. Instead of being handed scrubs, Patsy was sternly lead to the waiting area with hardly a 'thank you' for her services in the ambulance - even though the secondary EMT was arguably incompetent and if she hadn't intervened, Patrick would more than likely be dead from exsanguination. She wouldn't have even made it into the ambulance in time if the secondary hadn't fumbled with the stretcher. " _Typical"_ Patsy muttered to herself. It was the pretentious culture that lead her away from hospital work in the first place.

Her anger had placated her for about an hour or so, but as the minutes passed and no news traveled through the operating doors, she felt herself falling deeper and deeper into feelings she didn't want to explore. She didn't want to think about the fact that someone she deeply respected could die at any moment, she didn't want to think about what everyone else in Nonnatus was doing or cleaning or feeling, and she certainly didn't want to think about the fact that it should've been her. Dr. Turner was fighting for his life, his family was terrified - _Shelagh, god, Shelagh_ , and dammit, it should have been her in front of that gun. Logically, she knew there wasn't anything more she could've done for mother or baby, but she was the midwife; she was responsible. At the end of the day, she'd made the call that the baby was coming too quickly and too early to get Mrs. Cartwright to the hospital safely and it would be better to call Dr. Turner and the flying squad as backup. It was the right call, and she knew it was the right call, but at the moment, every choice she made felt amateurish and stupid. _The baby was dead before she went into labor, Patience, you couldn't have saved it, and the mother was bleeding more than she should have been before you even arrived. It's not your fault they waited to call Nonnatus._

"It is my fault." Patsy whispered to herself. "Stupid girl."

"Pats?" Delia's voice called out from down the hall and Patsy looked up to see the Welsh nurse hurrying as professionally as she could towards the waiting benches. She had no idea if she knew what was happening and it felt selfish to want her girlfriend when Shelagh might never have her husband again, but Patsy couldn't help but feel relieved. She pushed down the urge to hug and kiss her and waited patiently on the bench. Delia sat beside her and grabbed her hand. "Pats, what happened? Why are you here?"

She hated that Delia's genuine compassion always cut to the core and she felt a few tears escape her well-trained eyes.

"It's Dr. Turner." she explained quietly. "He's in surgery. Gun-shot wound to the stomach."

"What?" Delia gasped. "How? When? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Patsy snapped harshly. Delia sighed, but didn't move. She wasn't a stranger to Patsy being overwhelmed by emotion and having it come out in anger. Surprisingly, though, Patsy's face soon fell and against propriety, Delia found herself holding her while she shook. "It's my fault, Delia. I'm responsible."

"Oh, Pats, you know that's not true." Delia whispered.

"But it is." Patsy argued. "I called Dr. Turner to the Cartwright birth, it was my fault he was ever there, and my fault for losing them." Delia paled as she pieced together what must have happened and what Patsy was actually saying.

"Don't." Delia spoke firmly. "Don't you dare start saying you wish it were you in that room because it isn't true."

"He doesn't deserve to be in there, Deels, he was just doing his job." Patsy cried. The ' _because I couldn't do mine.'_ was left unsaid, but Delia heard it loud and clear.

"You did the best job you could." she insisted. "You needed help and you called for a doctor as soon as you realized he was needed. That's all that can be expected of you." Delia gently stroked Patsy's hand to ease the death grip on her uniform. Patsy would always blame herself before ever considering there was another option. Delia loved that Patsy was so responsible and so dedicated, but it broke her heart in times like this. Patsy would never be okay with the fact that she couldn't solve every problem through sheer determination. Delia didn't blame her, but it didn't make helping her any easier.

The doors to the waiting area burst open.

"Family of Patrick Turner?" a nurse called out. Patsy nearly sucked her tears back into her eyes. Another thing Delia would forever be impressed and horrified by. She stood with Patsy.

"They're on their way, but I'm here in their place." Patsy announced. "Patience Mount, SRN SCN of Nonnatus House and colleague of Dr. Turner." Were it not for the subtle, instinctive twitch of her fingers towards her love's hand, she would have been the picture of professionalism.

"Nurse Mount," the nurse sighed, "as you well know, I cannot give out any personal medical information on Dr. Turner to anyone except immediate family. You are free to alert staff when they arrive." She turned to see to other duties. Patsy nearly called out to her, but Delia put a hand on her arm, gaze asking for her trust. Patsy nodded and Delia disappeared through the doors. A few, agonizing moments later, Delia walked as quickly as she could back to Patsy without arousing suspicion with a smile on her face.

"He's out of surgery and it looks promising." she revealed. Patsy let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you." Patsy cried. Her hands itched to cup her girlfriend's face and take comfort and solace in her lips, but she kept them to her sides with a practiced tension. "You should go before the Matron catches you."

"It's alright," Delia smiled, "I'm already far past my break." she, too, forced her hands into the pockets of her uniform. "I'll be back after my shift. Will you tell Shelagh I'm sorry?"

Patsy nodded sadly. She had a lot to say to Shelagh and Delia's condolences were small worries compared to the rest of the list.

"I will." Patsy promised. Delia reached out and with a final squeeze of her hand, hurried back to her assigned ward. Patsy took a moment to gather herself and moved to the phone. Her calls to Poplar 459 were normally of a much different sort and her muscles calmed at the familiar dialing.

" _Nonnatus House, midwife speaking."_

"Barbara, it's Patsy." she said. "He's out of surgery, he's going to be alright."

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Thank you so much for reading! Hoping to have chapter 7 up soon! Your support is incredible. *hugz*


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 **Summary:** The diagnosis.

 **A/N:** We made it to the hospital! There's still some very serious angst to come, but I can actually see the cuteness on the horizon now! Also, sorry for the delay in updating. I'm dealing with my own hospital family drama right now and writing about a loved one in the hospital was just a little too much for me for a little bit.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Hospitals smelled differently to Shelagh depending on why she was there. As a nursing student, the hospital smelled like promise. Even the rankest smells from various injuries and procedures reminded her of what she could fix and how she was on her way to fulfilling her purpose. As Sister Bernadette, the hospital smelled of the flowers dropped off by loved ones and the carbolic soap of the constant laundry. Whenever she was seconded she always marveled at the difference between the pristine hospital care and the struggles of the East End. Now, though, all she smelled was death. She supposed all the smells had always been there. There were always people helping, people caring, people dying. Now, though, one of those people was Patrick and she felt sick to her stomach.

Phyllis charged ahead of her to get the room from the matron. She wanted to argue that she was more than capable of handling it, but the truth was, she probably wasn't if her grip was anything to go by. Timothy returned her death grasp, but Angela was struggling and pulling against her hand.

"This way," Phyllis instructed, "Doctor will meet us there."

"Did she say anything?" Tim asked fearfully.

"Not as yet, I'm afraid." said Phyllis. "But if Nurse Mount says he's out of surgery, then that's a good sign." Phyllis tried to tamp down on the lingering fear that 'out of surgery' didn't necessarily mean 'right as rain'. Shelagh already knew that and she didn't need anyone bringing it to attention.

The group walked tensely through the hallways. Even Angela sensed the need for quiet, though she didn't know why. Shelagh and Tim told her that daddy was hurt and needed to go to the hospital to see a special doctor, but she didn't understand. Whenever she was hurt, she went to her daddy. If her daddy was the one who fixed people, how come someone else needed to fix him? It was all very confusing.

"Family of Patrick Turner?" A doctor called out, walking towards them. Shelagh hurried forward.

"Yes, I'm his wife, Shelagh Turner, and these are his children." she spoke quickly. "Please, is he alright?" The doctor sighed, adopting a patronizing tone and stance that Shelagh knew all too well. "I'm a trained nurse and the wife of a doctor, don't." Despite the seriousness of the moment, Phyllis smirked as Doctor Owens blinked in surprise. She remembered when she too found out just how ferocious little Shelagh Turner could be. Doctor Owens nodded.

"The surgery was successful." sighs of relief were heard all around, though they knew he wasn't finished. "Dr. Turner will make a full recovery in time."

"But," Shelagh pressed nervously.

"The bullet passed clean through his spleen." Doctor Owens explained. "The damage was too great to repair, and we needed to remove it. There was also considerable blood loss, as with any clean shot. There's little risk of infection, but it may be some time before he wakes, and even longer before he has the strength to leave the hospital. He has quite the recovery road ahead." Shelagh, Tim, and Phyllis nodded in understanding.

"But he'll be alright?" Shelagh asked with a glimmer of hope. "I won't lose him?"

"No, Mrs. Turner." he replied with a smile. "You've got a fighter on your hands."

"Thank you." Shelagh sighed happily.

"Would you like to see him?" Doctor Owens asked. "You won't get much out of him, I'm afraid, but-"

"Yes, please." Shelagh insisted. Doctor Owens nodded and lead them into the room.

Patrick lay on his back, an IV in his hand and a blood transfusion making its way into his arm. A standard issue hospital blanket covered most of him, but it was easy to see the bulge around his torso where he was heavily bandaged. His skin was deathly pale.

"Daddy sleeping?" Angela asked. Shelagh sniffled a bit, but held it together.

"Yes darling, daddy's sleeping." she replied.

"No bedtime." Angela argued. The sun shone through the small window, proving her point. "Why sleep?"

"Because daddy is...sick...right now, Angel girl. Remember how much you sleep when you're sick?" Shelagh tried to explain.

"Oh." Angela said. "When daddy waking up?"

"I don't know, love." Shelagh replied, the exhaustion creeping into her voice.

"Angela, why don't we see if we can find a bite to eat, hmm?" Phyllis asked with a keen eye towards Shelagh. Angela immediately perked up - the blessing of being a distractible three-year-old.

"Timmy too?" Angela asked eagerly. Tim didn't want to leave, but he would've done anything for the look in his mother's eyes. It was new. She wasn't asking him to leave because 'the adults wanted time', she was asking him to leave because she trusted him to take care of Angela when she couldn't and she needed a moment alone with Patrick to process what the doctor had told them. He sighed and nodded.

"Me too, Ange. Come on, let's see what we can find." Tim contracted the muscles in his face into what he assumed was a smile and took Angela's hand as they followed Phyllis down the hall.

The click of their shoes faded and Shelagh was left in silence. The Patrick laying before her didn't seem real. Her Patrick's skin was always flushed with energy or worry and even in sleep, he broke the silence with soft snores and the occasional mumble. This Patrick didn't move. He lay perfectly still and pale and if it hadn't been for the nearly undetectable expansion of his chest, she would believe he were dead.

Her hand clutched his wrist and her anxiety ebbed at the feel of his pulse. It wasn't the reassurance she wanted, but it was better than nothing and far better than the alternative. Her thumb made its way back and forth across his hand of its own accord in a familiar pattern of comfort. She wondered if he could feel it. There were endless theories as to how much an unconscious person could hear, or smell, or feel, but she'd never paid any of them much mind. She'd always told patients that their loved ones knew they were there and that their prayers could be heard. She never realized those were just words. No level of faith, no amount of prayer, no mountain of belief could make her shake the fear of Patrick being lost in the darkness somewhere while she sat helpless.

So many words lay jumbled in her mouth. Perhaps silence was better. If he couldn't hear her, it wouldn't matter, and if he could - well he didn't deserve what she was terrified would come spilling out.

With her friends and children out of sight and him bandaged before her, buried wells of anger bubbled. How dare he? How dare he be so stupidly stubborn and jump in front of her? How dare one of their patients attack them, especially in a place of care? Why were others allowed to lose their minds with grief, and steal guns, and she had to keep everything together? Why did she have to feel so useless now that she was falling apart? How dare Patrick make her fall apart?

"Mrs. Turner?" a hesitant voice called from the doorway.

"What?" Shelagh snapped. Realizing it was Patsy, she softened. "I'm terribly sorry, Nurse Mount, that was most uncalled for."

"No, please." Patsy insisted. "You of all people have no need to apologize right now." Shelagh shook her head.

"There should never be an excuse for being discourteous." Shelagh said. "No matter what the circumstances." Her gaze drifted back towards Patrick, and Patsy quietly took the seat on the opposite side of the bed.

"Perhaps not," Patsy said, "but if there were ever a time for it, I'd say nearly losing a loved one is as good a reason as there will ever be." Shelagh looked up and smiled in sympathy - possibly the last emotion Patsy was expecting from her.

"I didn't know at the time, and so I never said anything-" Shelagh said, "I'm sorry for how difficult things were when Delia had her accident. I - know how awful it feels now, and I…" Perhaps it was the presence of someone who truly understood, but she couldn't help but cry. Patsy hesitated a moment, in shock from the revelation that Shelagh (and by extension, Patrick) knew about her and Delia and appeared to accept them, but then swiftly moved her chair to Shelagh's side of the bed and took her hand. That was a conversation for a later time.

She wasn't a natural comforter, but years with the Nonnatuns had taught Patsy quite a bit about solidarity and she waited patiently while Shelagh squeezed her back with one hand and gripped at Patrick's blanket with the other. She'd admired the Turners since her first day in Poplar, not only for their work ethic and their kindness, but for their complete devotion to each other. It wasn't readily obvious, but she'd had enough of her own experience with hidden relationships to see the tells: how Patrick would put his hand on her back when he thought no one was looking or how she'd lose herself in him for a moment during an intense delivery. They completed each other...and she'd nearly taken that away.

"I'm so sorry, Shelagh." Patsy whispered. "I'm so terribly sorry he was ever at that delivery. If I could take back that phone call, I would do it in a heartbeat."

"You didn't do this," Shelagh cried, "this isn't your fault, or Patrick's."

"Or yours." Patsy supplied knowingly.

"I know." Shelagh replied unconvincingly. "But the man who's responsible is already arrested. The police have done everything they were supposed to and it doesn't matter. The arrest won't wake him up. Oh, God, I don't know what to do." Her fingers were white with how hard she was clutching the fraying hospital blanket. Patsy eased her fingers.

"Let us help you." Patsy pleaded. "All of us, whatever you need."

"I want Patrick." Shelagh's voice cracked.

"I know." Patsy replied earnestly. She knew that feeling. "But in the meantime, if you can't have what you want, let us give you what you need." Patsy had no way of knowing, but the familiar words calmed Shelagh and for the first time, she allowed herself to think of what Patrick would do if their positions were reversed. ' _Probably lose the flat under a pile of chippy wrappers and Lancets.'_ That wasn't her, though. She was the practical one in their relationship. She could do this.

"I need to go back to the flat and make up a bag for Patrick." Shelagh spoke steadily. Patsy nodded. "And I need to call a locum."

"Let us take care of the surgery." Patsy insisted. "We can have a locum in place in no time and I'm sure Nurse Crane won't mind fixing the rota so one of us can cover for you." Shelagh went to protest, but Patsy stopped her. "I know you probably feel like you need to work, but you need to be here. It's alright to ask for help. We _want_ to help."

Shelagh nodded slowly. She'd always been better at being the helper than the helped, but she would try. Patsy was right, she needed to be here the moment Patrick awoke.

* * *

Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope you enjoy! *big hugz*


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **Summary:** Waiting and the toll it takes.

 **A/N:** Thank you all again for reading and for your beautiful comments. I posted something about this on tumblr, but I just wanted to put it here as well. I know there's some concern about too much angst from various readers and that's totally valid, especially because people love their Turnadette to be angst-free. I did think incredibly hard about whether or not to alter the story from my original plan or to go through with it and after a couple conversations, I decided to leave it as the angst-ridden beast it wants to be. I know that might put some off from continuing to read and I just wanted to say that that's totally cool and I so appreciate your readership up to this point! Not every story is going to be for everyone and that's the beauty of both fanfiction and the art it's based on. :)

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

The days passed in a surprisingly calm sense of order. Every morning, Shelagh would ready Timothy and Angela for school. Angela would ask where Patrick was and Shelagh would explain that he was still sick, but that he would come home to them very soon. Angela would ask what she could do to make him better and Shelagh would sigh, knowing the answer was 'nothing', but eventually she would hand Angela a plaster to carry with her throughout the day until visiting hours. Timothy would give her a look, but he wouldn't discourage his sister - after all, amongst all the worry, the growing explosion of plasters on random places of Patrick's body was highly amusing for all of them. Timothy would inevitably offer to stay home from school so that she could rest and take care of the baby and she would inevitably wave him off with a half-hearted remark about trying to get out of school work.

Once the children were gone, she would tend to the house and make sure absolutely everything was in perfect order. Ironically, with Patrick in the hospital, her housework was considerably less than with his help. She wished it were otherwise; partly because he'd be there and partly because she desperately needed the distraction of chores. When she could no longer justify dusting the mantlepiece for the fifth time, she would make her way to Nonnatus where someone would be waiting for her with a cup of Horlicks and a promise of a daily check-up. She'd fought the idea of daily care, but in the end, it gave her yet another task for the day before visiting hours, so she relented. It also gave her time to dedicate to the baby, which she sadly realized she'd been avoiding.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy. She was. She was ecstatic. Years of lost hope and endless longing had miraculously resulted in a pregnancy...and she was alone. Up until now, she'd shared every moment with Patrick. He'd felt every expanding curve, held her hair during the horrid weeks of morning sickness, and gone to the Nonnatus garden in the middle of the night when she desperately wanted carrots and wouldn't settle for anything else. The baby was almost far enough along that soon, they'd be able to hear a heartbeat at her check up and she couldn't bear the thought of him missing that. She wasn't sleeping well. When she wasn't thinking of Patrick, she felt guilty for abandoning him and when she was consumed by him, she felt guilty for ignoring her children - both living and on the way. It was absolutely maddening and there were times when she truly hated herself because all she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and not speak to anyone. Then of course, after ten minutes of lying in her marital bed, cold and alone, she'd want to bolt out of her skin. It made her stomach ache.

The only time she ever felt at peace was when she could sit by Patrick's side. That wouldn't be for another several hours, though, and so, for the moment, she forced her feelings into her gut and knocked on the familiar door. To her relief, it was Trixie who answered.

"Shelagh, sweetie, come on in." Trixie took her by the arm and lead her gently towards the sitting room. Shelagh stopped her.

"Would it be possible to go to one of the guest rooms instead?" she asked, eyes darting nervously to the sitting room archway. Trixie looked at her in deep concern.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Shelagh assured, though her stomach was still giving her grief, "I'm just not quite feeling up to a lot of company today."

"I understand." Trixie replied. "You don't have to worry about that, though, if you'd rather have the routine. Nearly everyone is out on calls, it's just me, well, and Sister Monica Joan, but I believe she's out in the gardens. She's been quite invested lately. Something about gnomes stealing carrots in the night."

Shelagh blushed and nearly gasped at the warm happiness that surged through her body for a passing second. Had it really been so long since she'd been happy that she'd forgotten what it felt like? Her stomach clenched against her thoughts. She couldn't dwell on that now.

"The sitting room is fine, then." she said and the two walked to the comfort of the couch. Shelagh always loved this couch. They'd been able to salvage a few bits of furniture from the old building and this was one of them. A rare relic of her time as Sister Bernadette. Now, she had her antenatal checks on it. Life was strange that way.

"How have you been feeling?" Trixie asked. "Physically, I mean?" she quickly added. It didn't take a psychologist to guess how Shelagh had been faring emotionally.

"Since yesterday?" Shelagh asked wryly. "I'm sorry, it's just been a bit of a hard morning." she apologized.

"That's alright." Trixie said. "I think you're more than entitled to a rough day right about now."

Shelagh bit back her frustration. She loved her friends and family more than she could ever say and she knew they loved her just as much, but she hated that they were making excuses for her. She was struggling, and heartbroken, and certainly hormonal, but she shouldn't be snapping at them. She would've liked to think she was more in control of herself than that. As if to prove it, she took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts.

"I haven't been sleeping well since..." she admitted. "I know I could take something for it, but the truth is I'm too afraid."

"Of sleeping?" Trixie asked as she felt along her stomach.

"Sometimes." Shelagh said. "The nightmares are terrible, and with what happened with Thalidomide, I don't want to take any chances. I know not all medications have the same effects, but right now...I just don't think I could handle anything else on top of this."

"That's perfectly alright, Shelagh." Trixie assured. "You don't have to take a prescription if you don't want to." Trixie paused her exam as Shelagh winced at a particular spot. "Did that hurt?"

Shelagh sighed. Ever since she was a child, her fears and anxieties had manifested as stomach pains and digestive issues. She couldn't help it. There had never been room in her life to express her emotions freely and she supposed this was how her body dealt with the stress. It was nothing to worry about. Besides, the pains felt too high to have anything to do with the baby and she couldn't afford to be on bed rest at the moment.

"It's nothing." Shelagh promised. "My stomach is always a bit funny when I have too much to do. It'll sort itself out."

"You're sure?" Trixie asked. "And you haven't had any spotting or cramping?"

"No, none at all." Shelagh replied. It was the truth, after all. The sleep was far more of a concern for her.

"Alright." Trixie warily. "I'd still be happier if you took it easy for the next few days. I know you, and I doubt you're spending your mornings relaxing." Shelagh turned her gaze to her fidgeting hands - it was still her tell. "I know you're worried about him, sweetie, but whether you want to admit it or not, this much stress isn't good for the baby."

"I know that." Shelagh pressed. "I know. I just...I wish he was here for it all. That sounds so selfish."

"It's not selfish." Trixie promised, taking her hand. "We all want him safe. You tell him that today, you hear? He has no business making you wait this long." Trixie teased to avoid the tears that were threatening her. Shelagh smiled thankfully.

"Mum are you here?!" Timothy shouted as he barrelled down the hall. Shelagh almost wished she was due for an internal exam, that would teach him to burst into rooms with the grace of a stampede.

"Yes, Timothy, we're in the sitting room." she called back. Trixie raised her eyebrow as he galumphed towards the sound of her voice. Shelagh laughed. He certainly had inherited his dad's elegance. He turned the corner with an out of breath Angela in hand.

"Timothy Turner, what on earth are you doing here an hour early and why is your sister red in the face?" Shelagh asked, slightly shocked. Poor Angela fought to pull away from Tim's grip and when he finally let her go, she ran to Shelagh.

"Timmy's mean!" Angela declared, curling into her Mummy's side in frustrated tears.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true, darling. What happened?" Shelagh asked. "Timothy?"

"I didn't do anything." He insisted. "Ms. Coulson was sick, so they let us out of our last class and we always miss the start of visiting hours, so I thought I would pick up Ange on the way and save time. If we leave now, we should get there right when it starts." Shelagh softened. Timothy's intentions were wonderful, even if they resulted in a cranky toddler.

"Timmy..not..let..me..finish.." Angela cried. ' _Ah,'_ Shelagh remembered, ' _it's Wednesday. Art day.''_

"I'm sorry you didn't get to finish your painting, darling," Shelagh said with a pointed look to Tim, "but you do get to see Daddy for longer today, would you like that?" Angela poked her head up from Shelagh's embrace and considered the offer.

"Can I paint with Aunty Trix?" she asked, gaze turning to Trixie who smiled, but looked to Shelagh so as not to give the eager little Turner too much encouragement.

"I don't know, dear, is Aunty Trixie working night shift?" Shelagh asked.

"No, she's not." Trixie grinned. "And she'd be happy to paint with her favorite artist after she sees her Daddy."

"Eeee!" Angela squealed happily and hugged Trixie close. Shelagh and Timothy sighed in relief. They both knew the other's patience was wearing thin with worry and a happy Angela meant a much more peaceful time for them all at the hospital.

"Come along, you two." Shelagh stood and took Timothy and Angela's hands. They had a very important place to be.

The trio was disappointed, but not surprised to hear that there was no change when they arrived at the hospital. The nurse took them back to the now-familiar room. At least they could be alone. Shelagh wasn't sure what strings had been pulled, but likely thanks to Patrick's status as a doctor, they'd given him a private room. It wasn't much, but it kept them away from the prying eyes of the ward, and for that, Shelagh was grateful.

Angela ran ahead of them into the room with today's plaster at the ready. Tim reached out to hold Shelagh back after the nurse left them.

"Mum, are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "You look a bit peaky."

Truth be told, she felt a bit dizzy, but she didn't want to worry him and it would likely pass as soon as she sat down.

"I'm perfectly fine, Tim." she replied. "Thank you, though. I haven't told you enough how wonderful you've been through all of this."

"Even though I upset Angela?" he asked with a grin, knowing she wasn't angry anymore.

"Don't push your luck." she teased back. Sometimes she forgot just how like his father he was. It soothed her to see him find some humor in his day, but soothe turned to sting when she let herself look over to Patrick. It wasn't all bad, she supposed. His color was significantly better and his breathing wasn't as labored. She hoped desperately that he wasn't in pain.

"Mummy, look!" Angela called out to her and Shelagh quickly stepped to her daughter's side. She couldn't help but laugh a bit. Angela had arranged the last few days of plasters across Patrick's chest into a crooked smiley face.

"That's lovely, darling." It was a testimony to how adorable Angela was that the various shifts of nurses hadn't removed her bandage artwork at the end of every day, but she was glad for it.

"At least he won't feel it if she rips them off." Tim remarked before he turned a bit somber. "How much longer do you think?" Shelagh sighed.

"I'd like to say soon, but I don't know." she replied sadly. "He looks a bit better today."

"I can't tell anymore." Tim admitted quietly. "I just want him to come home."

"I know, Tim." Shelagh pulled him close and let him hide against her like his sister from earlier. It was safe for him to do that here. Here, he was protected from the expectations of strength from the outside world.

They sat for hours, one of them always connected to Patrick in some way. Timothy and Angela told him all about school and daycare and anything they could think of while Shelagh sat and encouraged them. She never spoke much when the children were with her. The things she wanted to tell Patrick were not for their ears and being with all three of them was so emotionally overwhelming for her that she was content to hold his hand and listen to her children's antics.

She also watched his face. More than watched, she drank in every tiny movement. It had to happen when she was there. He had to wake up when she was there so she could hold him and kiss him and tell him how much she missed him and how much she wanted to smother him with a pillow for leaving her for this long. Timothy didn't seem to understand her silence at first, but now he was used to it and he would talk as much as he could.

At least Shelagh wasn't shutting him out. After visiting hours, Angela would play and Shelagh and Timothy would talk. Sometimes it was about Patrick, but sometimes it was about things Timothy had said to his dad that he actually needed to talk about. Patrick couldn't respond, but Shelagh could, and she always did. He often wondered if his dad would listen to him in the same way if their positions were reversed and it was Shelagh fighting for her life. He doubted it, but he certainly hoped.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Turner, I'm afraid visiting hours are ending." the nurse announced apologetically. Everyone at the hospital knew either Patrick or Shelagh through work and all of them felt for the poor family.

Shelagh nodded and stood to adjust the knitted blanket across Patrick as she did every evening. She heard Timothy gasp behind her.

"Mum!"

She turned to see him looking at her, utterly terrified. He pointed to her chair and then to her dress. Shelagh felt the floor fall out from under her at the glaring red stains.

The nurse came running back as a heartbroken scream rattled from the room.

* * *

Well, we knew this was coming...SORRY! On the brightside, though, they're both in the same hospital? No? Not comforting? *hides*


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 **Summary:** Limbo

 **A/N:** Welcome back to angst-fest? *hugz* Sorry for the delay in updating. A musical I wrote was accepted to a festival and it's consumed my life, lol. Guys, there's so much paperwork in doing your own thing, so like, do your own thing, but PAPERWORKKKK. Okay, that's all.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Shelagh couldn't remember a time her life wasn't swept up in smells. From her childhood farm, to the worst parts of Poplar, to a house with two rambunctious children, she'd always been surrounded by familiar (if occasionally unpleasant) aromas. She never minded, though. Her eyesight had always been poor, loud noises had always overwhelmed her, and poverty had taught her not to put too much stock into food that wouldn't always taste edible or soft toys that could be taken away. Her sense of smell was always reliable, though, and she didn't have to open her eyes to realize she was in her parents' room in her family home in Scotland. Her mother's favorite flowers, her father's work clothes, and the soothing fresh scent of the country through the window all touched a place in her heart she hadn't thought about in years.

Why was she here though? How was she here?

She couldn't remember how she'd got there. One minute, she was visiting Patrick at the hospital and the next, she was waking up in Aberdeen in a house she hadn't stepped foot inside for nearly two decades.

It was unnervingly clean.

Smells aside, the small house was spotless and untouched - as though it hadn't been lived in in centuries. The tight bed-corners and symmetrical placement of small keepsakes along the lone shelf were not her parents' doing. Shelagh might've always been impeccably neat, but her family wasn't. This wasn't real.

"Hello?" She called out tentatively. She was met with silence. Her heart began to flutter in fear. She still couldn't remember how she got here. She just wanted to feel safe. She wasn't sure why, but it felt like she hadn't felt safe in some time. She wanted Patrick. "Patrick." she whispered more to herself than to anyone who might be in the house.

"Shelagh?" a familiar voice called back to her and her entire world righted itself in seconds.

"Patrick, where are you?" she called out, running towards his voice. Her bare feet smacked hurriedly against the wooden floors and she could hear the fleeting reminder of her mother not to run in the house, but she didn't care. She needed to be wherever he was. He would make this make sense.

"I don't know where I am!" he shouted back. A rattling door shook through the walls.

" _Sitting room closet."_ she thought to herself. She'd gotten stuck in it plenty as a child. Why Patrick would be there was beyond her, but she didn't have the patience to question it. She ran the familiar S-shaped hall and stumbled into her old sitting room. The door to the closet buckled and she heard a small oomph as Patrick tried to hurl his shoulder against it. She giggled to herself. Silly man, the door opens inward.

She called out for Patrick to stand as far back as possible and rammed the door from her end. The closet sprang open immediately and Patrick ran out of it in terror it might trap him once more.

Shelagh's smile faded.

He'd run _through_ her. Straight through her, like a ghost.

"Patrick?" she asked with uncertainty. She felt his name on her tongue and realized just how many times she said it everyday. Sometimes in love, sometimes in annoyance, frequently in praise, but rarely in doubt.

"Why are you here?" he asked fearfully, having recovered from his closet mishap. "You shouldn't be here."

"I don't even know where here is, Patrick, please." she pleaded, more scared than before. She tried again to touch him, to hold him, but her hands went through his body as easily as he'd gone through hers. "Why can't I touch you?" she cried.

"I'm sorry I yelled." he apologized. Out of habit, he moved to take her hand, and his heart shattered when he couldn't. "It's good that you can't touch me, though, darling. Though, please don't think I don't wish I could touch you."

"I don't understand." she sank down onto her family couch and he gently took a seat beside her. "Why can we touch the furniture?" Her fingers clenched and unclenched against the rough woolen blankets. She never really liked them, they always made her feel smothered. A side effect of being so small, she supposed.

"I'm not entire sure." he admitted. "I've found I'm able to touch most places and things, but...not always people." he paused and looked around. "What is this place?" she looked up at him questioningly, that was obviously not the most pressing issue at the moment. He smiled. "I just ask because it must have meaning to you. I've learned that much at least. If it didn't, you wouldn't have been able to call me here."

Things were starting to make horrible, morbid sense to Shelagh, though the relief of being able to talk to her husband was worth the realizations. As she calmed, her memory began to come back to her. Patrick in the hospital, Timothy and Angela, days and days of waiting...she still couldn't remember how she got here, though.

"It's my childhood home." she revealed. "Though I don't remember it ever being this tidy and quiet."

"I was in Italy." he replied. "Also much quieter than I remembered."

Both sat in the silence. Neither wanted to ask the questions that lay between them. Patrick didn't want to know why Shelagh was unconscious and Shelagh didn't want to know if this was a glimpse at an afterlife she'd always imagined quite differently, but they were questions that needed to be answered.

"Shelagh, what happened here?" Patrick asked softly. He wanted her to say nothing. He wanted her to say that her childhood was perfect and then she left to become a nurse and nun and, eventually, his wife, but he knew that wasn't the case. She'd never really talked about her mother's death. She'd talked about her father's when he'd finally opened up about Northfield, but her mother went unspoken and he couldn't help but wonder why. It must have happened here. He could feel it in the way her body tensed to protect itself and the way her mind had tidied up the place that held her messiest memories.

"My mother died on this couch." Shelagh whispered. "My father and I both wanted to be rid of it afterwards, but we couldn't afford another one, so we just covered it up with blankets. Eventually, I was glad of it. I would come here to be with her."

"How?" he gently pushed when she trailed off.

"Hemorrhage with my little sister. She didn't make it either." Shelagh murmured. "We were too far away to get a midwife here in time and I…"

"That's when you decided to become one." he finished for her. God, it was killing him that he couldn't hold her.

"I couldn't bare the thought of anyone else suffering." she admitted. How like his Shelagh. "There was so much blood - oh God, Patrick!" Shelagh gasped as her final memories of the hospital triggered back into her brain. Timothy's horror, shouting for the nurse, her soaked dress.

"What is it?" Again, instinct shot his hands to her shoulders, but it was for naught. Only cold air met his fingertips. He hated that she was here. She didn't belong here, neither of them did, but at least he was healing. He was on his way home. Why, why was she also taken away from their children.

"I think I'm here because I had a miscarriage." she cried. "I remember...there was so much blood and Timothy was so scared. Patrick, what have I done?"

"Shelagh, love, whatever happened it wasn't your fault." Damn their inability to touch. Four years of marriage and he still couldn't find the words to say what his hands and lips always could. "It's going to be alright."

"It's not going to be alright, Patrick." she snapped. "You weren't supposed to be hurt, I wasn't supposed to leave them behind, we don't know how to get back." Her words got faster and faster her hand moved subconsciously to her stomach. Relief filled his very bones. She could feel physical pain. She was going to be called back. Hopefully she wouldn't return like he did.

"Shelagh, listen to me. The reason we can't touch is because we're not really here." she tried to interrupt him, but he didn't know how much time he had, so he didn't let her. "Only the dead can touch here, but we're not dead, do you understand? I don't know how much of this you'll remember when you wake, but please try to remember that I'm getting better and I will come back to you."

"Patrick, I don't - ah!" she gasped and her nails dug into her abdomen. She was leaving. "I don't want to leave you!"

"You won't." he promised. "It won't be long now, I promise I'll be back with you soon."

"No-" she reached out for him, but he was gone. Scotland was gone.

Blinding light surrounded her and filled her every sense until the chaos faded to a soft beep and the shuffling of a chair.

"My dear, Shelagh." Sister Julienne's relieved voice soothed her and she squeezed her hand. She could have sworn Patrick was just beside her.

* * *

Imma try to not wait as long before the next update! Up next: Timothy and Angela feelz fest and Sister Julienne being a badass. :P


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **Summary:** Together, but apart.

 **A/N:** SORRY I DIED AGAIN. Literally the only thing I can promise at this point in terms of updates is that I will not abandon this story, lol. Thank you for sticking around!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

" _My dear, Shelagh." Sister Julienne's relieved voice soothed her and she squeezed her hand. She could have sworn Patrick was just beside her._

She could feel Sister Julienne softly stroking her hand, willing her back into the world of the living, but she indulged her fears and kept her eyes closed. If they thought she was sleeping, they couldn't tell her she'd had a miscarriage. If they thought she was sleeping, she wouldn't have to see the pity in Sister Julienne's eyes. If they thought she was sleeping, she wouldn't have to see the fear in her children's faces now that both their parents were lying in hospital beds.

" _Timothy."_ Sister Julienne called out gently. He must be sitting nearby, Shelagh thought. " _She's waking up."_ God help her, she wanted to see him, but she wasn't ready yet. His lack of response from wherever he was sitting hinted he wasn't ready either...and he was possibly quite angry. Timothy and Patrick were both masters of the silent treatment when they wanted to be. She felt Sister Julienne's hand slip away and the rustle of the older woman's habit as she stood. " _I believe it might help her to have you close."_

" _No it won't."_ Timothy snapped lowly. Shelagh felt her heart clench. " _It didn't help dad, and it won't help her."_ He pushed his chair away roughly and his furious footsteps echoed on the tiles.

" _Timothy, please,"_ Sister Julienne called after him, but he wasn't coming back. Shelagh willed her to stay turned towards Timothy's retreating form, but, of course, the nun had too keen a sense of distress to ignore her for long. "I know you're awake, Shelagh." Shelagh's breath caught. "You don't have to do anything right now, my dear, just rest and listen." Sister Julienne sat back down at her bedside and Shelagh let the fleeting feeling of safety wash over her as the nun adjusted the blankets and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Patrick is still asleep, but the doctor says he's improving greatly. While you're both here, Timothy and Angela will stay at Nonnatus." She felt Shelagh try to speak and quickly soothed her. This wasn't a time for arguing. "I don't know how much you remember of what happened, but you need to rest. There was some blood loss, but you're still pregnant, Shelagh, do you understand? You haven't lost your baby." Shelagh felt an uncomfortable surge of happiness and relief, but was too tired to hold onto it. Instead, for the first time in her life, she let the world fall away as Sister Julienne's calming hand on her back lulled her to sleep.

* * *

"Watch where you're going, young man!" A nurse hollered at Tim as he shoved past her and out the hospital doors, but he didn't care. He needed to move. He wasn't even sure where he was heading, but he knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't go back to the maternity ward because he couldn't bear seeing his mum, he couldn't go to his dad's room because he wasn't allowed by himself, he couldn't go home because no one would be there, and he couldn't go to Nonnatus because he didn't want to deal with his sister. He just wanted to be anywhere that didn't have anything to do with the fact that his family was falling to pieces and there was nothing he could do about it.

He wanted to talk to someone. He desperately needed to fall apart to someone, but he couldn't, not when he knew that waiting on the other side of that conversation was a heap of platitudes about staying strong and waiting for the sun to come out. He didn't want to hear any of that. He knew better than that now. Sometimes, the world just fell apart for no reason and it was just awful. Why did no one else seem to understand that? Why did there have to be a reason for everything? Why on earth would there ever be a reason for him losing his mother and now having both of his parents in the hospital? There wasn't a reason for that. It didn't matter what any of the Sisters or nurses said.

He stewed in his thoughts and let his feet take him where they would, until eventually, he found himself paused in front of a familiar grave marker. The words "Marianne Turner: Beloved wife, mother, and daughter." stared back at him.

He didn't want to be here.

' _Maybe someone else wanted you to be?'_ a little voice in the back of his head prodded at him. No. He just spent the entire walk here giving up on all hope of the universe making sense or having a plan. His mind was on death. That was the only reason why he was here. He would pay his respects to his birth mother and go somewhere else.

As he knelt on the soft earth, he realized how long it had been since he visited. He used to go all the time, especially during the first year when Patrick was so lost in his work. Perhaps it was the active imagination of childhood, but he always felt like she could hear him when he spoke to her here. Maybe that's why he stopped visiting as much. He supposed it hurt more as he got older and her presence felt further and further away.

"Why does everyone leave?" he whispered to the cold stone. He wasn't surprised to not hear a response. Even if she could talk to him, why would she want to talk to a son who stopped visiting and who just abandoned his new mother in the hospital because he wasn't strong enough to deal with seeing her in pain? Tim felt himself start to cry and he leapt up to rub eyes and hurry away before he completely lost it.

"Timothy?"

He cringed. Sometimes, he hated how small Poplar was. Someone was always there, for better or worse, whether you wanted them or not… He wiped his eyes one more time and turned around.

"Hello, Nurse Mount." he murmured. He prepared himself for the onslaught of "Are you okay?" or "Let's get you home." or "I know it's hard." Instead, Patsy smiled eerily knowingly at him.

"I'm not sure this was the break from the hospital I would've picked, but to each his own, I suppose." she remarked as she gestured to the Turner grave. She'd never been to Marianne's grave before, but it wasn't hard to make the connection between the distraught young man and the marker which bore his surname. "I take it your mother is awake?"

"How did you know?" Tim asked, shocked. News couldn't travel that fast, even in Poplar, and besides, Patsy was nowhere near a phone.

"You wouldn't have left otherwise." Patsy explained with a sigh. "It's always easier to be angry with them when we know they're going to be alright. You can't be angry when they might not survive. You don't want it to be the last emotion you feel towards them." she paused and looked away. "I'm sorry, Timothy, you don't need to hear all of that."

"No, it's alright." he insisted. "Thank you for...being honest."

Patsy's unease melted a bit and she gestured to a nearby bench. They could still see Marianne. Patsy moved her hands to adjust the skirt of her dress and it was only then that Tim noticed they were filthy.

"What were you doing out here?" he asked, then quickly followed with "If you don't mind my asking."

Normally, the question would've thrown her and she would've hidden comfortably inside a mask of nonchalance, but she felt connected to the young Turner. He'd been forced to grow up faster than he should have and it gave him an air of jadedness that ironically calmed her. Everyone these days had some sort of trauma in their past, but Timothy had lost one parent and now had two in intensive care and she could understand how worried he must be.

"Visiting as well." she replied. "My parents passed when we were...overseas... I don't really have anywhere to visit, but Mr. Hereward was gracious enough to arrange a small area for me." She left out the part where Trixie had pressure him after learning about her past. Tim didn't need to know the interpersonal drama of Nonnatus.

"You lost them both?" Tim asked quietly.

"Yes." Patsy replied. "It was sometime ago, but it helps to have somewhere to be with them."

They sat in peaceable silence as Tim let his gaze settle on his mother's resting place.

"I don't want to be angry, but..." Tim finally said. Patsy remained quiet, but her eyes encouraged him. "Dad was hurt protecting mum and now mum is hurt from worrying about dad and I just...I can't."

"You can't help but feel that they don't worry about you and Angela?" Patsy clarified. He nodded. It was a horrid thought, but it'd been swimming around his mind for hours and it was cleansing to hear it outloud.

"I know it's not true, but I can't help it." Tim's voice trembled. "Mum was so scared when she started bleeding and she looked at dad for help, but he obviously couldn't move, so she looked at me and I just froze. I didn't do anything. And then when the nurse took her away, Angela was crying, and I yelled at her, and then when mum woke up, I ran away and I yelled at Sister Julienne and I just don't know what to do anymore!" His rant carried him back to Marianne and he stomped his foot into the ground. "Why did you have to die?" he screamed at the grave. "It's your fault! If you hadn't died, mum would still be safe and dad wouldn't have had to save her in the first place! I hate you!"

Patsy stayed on the bench until Tim's yelling finally turned to tears and he slunk down into the dirt. She truly understood. It was easy to blame the dead or the living when you couldn't blame the dying. She also knew that while Shelagh's faith was strong and the family regularly attended church, Tim was likely about as observant as his father, which made personal crises even more difficult. While she herself did not believe, she often wished she did. It seemed so much simpler to believe someone was guiding it all. Without faith, she (and Timothy and Patrick) were reliant on their gut and their strength, and that wasn't easy at times.

"You won't be angry forever." Pasty assured quietly.

"Mum's going to be furious with me for leaving." he cried.

"No, she won't." Patsy promised. "When you're ready to go back, I think you'll find she's anxious to see you, whether that's in a few minutes or in a few days."

Tim nodded and continued to let himself cry, even as Patsy knelt beside him and placed her one remaining flower on Marianne's grave.

* * *

 _On bed she hadn't slept in in years, Marianne Turner also wept. Her son's screams brought her back to the darkness of her last days in her once-happy home. The room hadn't changed a bit, though she knew its real-life counterpart must look drastically different after years in the hands of another Mrs. Turner. To Marianne, though, the bed was still slightly broken on the left hand side, the duvet was still stained from Timothy's antics, and the pillows were as soft and pliant as they ever could be. Her fingers dug into the fabric as she heard Tim's voice over and over in her head. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"_

" _Marianne Turner, you stop your blubbering this instant."_

 _Marianne shot up off the bed and laughed at the familiar sight of Sister Evangelina scowling at her. How many times had they been in this position after her diagnosis? She'd cry and Sister Evangelina would softly comfort her before smacking her arm and telling her to pull it together and enjoy the time she had left with her boys. Why should it be different now?_

" _Sorry Sister." Marianne apologised. "It seems old habits die hard."_

 _Sister Evangelina smiled._

" _That they do, Mrs. Turner." she sat down on the bed and sighed. "I heard him too. Can't imagine that's easy to stomach, even if the lad doesn't mean it."_

" _I just want to help him." Marianne sniffled. "Patrick too, and Shelagh, and Angela. There's so much suffering."_

" _The Lord has certainly seen fit to test your family." Sister Evangelina agreed solemnly. "They're a strong bunch, though, they'll pull through."_

" _I haven't seen Patrick since he was first hurt." Marianne remarked. "I'd hoped it meant he was awake, but listening to Tim now-"_

" _We will never have any control over where He needs us to be, no matter how much we may want it and you know that." Sister Evangelina said with a practiced tone. "Though I will admit, I had hoped for a deeper understanding now that we're here on the other side." she smirked at her secret and Marianne brightened. She'd always loved the brash Sister. "All will come back together as it should in time." Marianne nodded._

" _I truly hope so, Sister. I truly hope so."_

* * *

Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 **Summary:** A glimpse of the sun

 **A/N:** YO THINGS ARE LOOKING UP! 46 pages later, but we're here!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

The days passed in a blur of grey moods and utter exhaustion. Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne had managed to organize the rota so that all of the house calls and maternity home shifts were covered, but with Shelagh and Patrick both out of commission and one of the Nonnatuns visiting the London everyday, everyone was pushed to their limits. Word about the Turners had spread quickly, though, and in true Poplar fashion, the community had come together to help in anyway they could. Meals were brought to the convent daily, tutors and nannies volunteered to help with Timothy and Angela, and the locum in Patrick's place proved to be extremely understanding and offered to run additional clinic hours when it became clear they weren't going to be able to see to all of their patients due to the staff shortage. They'd also taken on a new midwife, Valerie, who had graciously accepted the post from Sister Julienne and offered to start immediately. Sister Julienne had offered her a few days to get accustomed, especially since workloads were running high, but Val wouldn't hear of it. She had great respect for Shelagh after the incident at the docks and she was eager to help anyway she could. It was how she'd always been.

Val's addition lifted everyone's spirits. Until the addition of new blood, the Nonnatuns hadn't realized how much the Turners' distress affected their daily lives. Val was a breath of fresh air and brought with her stories from her mum's pub and fond reminiscences of her Poplar childhood. She also proved vital for Timothy and Angela. Unlike all the other midwives, she didn't constantly fuss over them or stare at them for signs of underdeveloped grief. She was a tough kid and she knew what tough kids looked like, so she knew better than to look at them with even an ounce of pity. They latched onto her humorous tenacity immediately. The others suspected Tim had developed a small crush on the new midwife, but they never teased him for it. Any smile was a good smile on a Turner these days.

There were certainly no smiles at the London.

Despite daily visits from friends and family, neither Shelagh nor Patrick seemed to be showing significant signs of improvement. Patrick's vitals remained steady, but the hopes of a quick awakening seemed to be dwindling by the day and the doctor's couldn't explain it. Shelagh, meanwhile, awoke every night in feverish sweats from nightmares about losing various or multiple members of her family and every time a nurse warned her to keep calm, it spiraled her further into panic. Therefore, she woke each day in fear, spent the day wishing she could confide in her husband, and went to sleep terrified to wake up in blood-covered sheets. Her stress levels were astronomical and while she was definitely happier during visiting hours, everyone could tell that separating her from Patrick was taking its toll.

Tim and Angela visited both parents everyday. Angela was always excited to see them, but Tim could tell she was getting more and more distressed when she didn't get to go home to mum and dad. He made sure they saw Patrick first. At least Shelagh was awake to reassure Angela, even if she couldn't tuck her in at night.

Shelagh greeted them with a genuine smile that always put Tim at ease a bit. He'd finally confessed to Val that he felt as though his parents weren't getting better because they'd given up on life without each other and he and Angela weren't enough to motivate them to heal. He knew on some level that it was an insane notion, but he couldn't help it. He felt much better once he'd heard that he and Angela were the first thing Shelagh asked about during the Nonnatuns' visits. Now, even though her face was pale with insomnia and worry, he was able to be comforted by the love in her eyes.

"Mum." Tim sighed happily and walked Angela over to Shelagh's bedside. Angela immediately crawled up into her mother's embrace and Shelagh took Tim's hand with the one that wasn't cradling her youngest. "How's the reading going? I hope you're not too bored."

He'd stopped asking how she was. Anything that made her think of the baby or Patrick made her sad and he didn't want that. Instead, he'd started bringing her books. On a good day, she'd read and they'd talk about the story. On a bad day, she simply stared into space. His own subtle way of checking in on her. Shelagh glanced warily to the bedside table. The most recent addition lay untouched. Tim's spirit sank.

"I may take a look at it later today." Shelagh replied. "It looks wonderful."

"Mummy?" Angela tugged gently at her arm.

"Yes, angel?" Shelagh asked.

"I miss you." Angela lay her head against Shelagh's chest. Shelagh's heart clenched.

"I miss you too, my darling girl. I miss both of you so very much." she said. "Hopefully it won't be long before I can come home."

"Daddy too?" Angela asked hopefully.

"Ange..." Tim warned. He'd tried so hard to explain to Angela time and again that she shouldn't mention Patrick during their visits, but his sister had a will of her own.

"It's alright, Timothy." Shelagh assured, though her eyes were dimmer than before. "One day, daddy too, angel girl."

"Good." Angela decreed. "And baby?"

"Angela!" Tim snapped. It had been a rough morning of Angela being stubborn about absolutely everything and his nerves were already frayed from visiting Patrick. He just wanted his mum to get better and that wasn't going to happen if the one moment of joy in her day was clouded.

"Timothy, please." Shelagh pleaded. "She doesn't know any better."

"But she does, mum." Tim insisted. "I've told her hundreds of times. She's not stupid."

"She's a child." Shelagh said firmly.

"She's making things worse!" he shouted. Angela burst into tears and buried her face into Shelagh. Shelagh simply sighed and waited. Tim, like Patrick, only shouted when he was overwhelmed. The apology would come in 3...2…

"I'm sorry, Ange. Sorry Mum." Tim said sincerely as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come here." Shelagh beckoned him closer and he lay beside her and Angela. "I don't tell you both enough how brave you are or how proud I am of you for being so strong." she paused to take in the fleeting sensation of having both of her children so close. "Things will be better than this. I promise you."

"I just want you and dad to get better." Tim whispered.

"I want that too." Shelagh replied. "But I'm afraid that right now, all we can do is wait and pray."

She could hear Tim's hesitation in the silence.

"I can't anymore." he spoke so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

"What can't you do, dearest?" Shelagh asked.

"Sister Julienne tried, but…" he took a breath, "I can't pray. I've tried so hard, but just don't think anyone is listening because...because if they were, then they would make you and dad better. Mummy always loved going to church and I was so angry with dad when he stopped going because mummy and I always went, but...I think I understand why he stopped now."

"Oh, Tim." Shelagh sighed and held him and Angela just a bit closer. She wished so desperately that she could fix all of this. They didn't deserve this. They should all be home and Patrick should be fussing over her pregnancy and Tim should be rolling his eyes. "I know you expect me to tell you to not lose faith and to try harder, but I won't." Tim lay still, listening intently. "I respect your father's faith in science just as much as he respects mine in God. If being married to him has taught me anything about faith, it's that you can't force it. It's understandable that you would be questioning now, and if you come out the other side of this more like your father or more like myself, then I believe that is where he has guided you." She felt Tim nod against her. "Have you spoken with Sister Julienne about this?"

"Not really." he said. "A little, but, I suppose I didn't want to hear her answer."

"I know that feeling well." Shelagh admitted with a small smile.

A gentle throat clearing brought them out of their bubble and all three Turners looked up to see Sister Julienne herself standing before them looking oddly...pleased?

"I'm so sorry to interupt your visit, but I thought you might want a bit of comforting news."

Shelagh sat up so fast, she nearly toppled Angela out of her arms.

"Is Patrick awake?!" She asked frantically. Tim and Angela stared expectantly and suddenly Sister Julienne realized she should have prefaced this more specifically.

"I'm afraid not." Sister Julienne sighed. "But, you'll be able to be there when he is."

"I don't understand." Shelagh said. Sister Julienne grinned.

"It took a bit of work and a bit of truly incredible rescheduling by Nurse Crane, but the staff has agreed to have you moved from the maternity ward into Dr. Turner's room for your time here." Sister Julienne revealed proudly.

"What?" Shelagh asked in disbelief. "But they wouldn't even let me up to see him…"

"They will when they're short staffed and in need of more frequent secondments." Sister Julienne admitted. Shelagh gasped.

"Sister, you can't. We're already inconveniencing everyone at Nonnatus House."

"Your family is not an inconvenience, Shelagh." Sister Julienne spoke resolutely. "You and Dr. Turner have done so much for us and, if you don't mind my saying so, neither of you are particularly skilled at asking for assistance. We want to do this. Additionally...it hasn't escaped our notice that neither of you appear to be healing without the other."

Shelagh blushed, but truthfully, she couldn't deny it. Not being able to check on Patrick was further stressing her and that was no good for the baby. Tim and Angela looked thrilled at the prospect as well.

"Alright." she nodded happily.

Sister Julienne motioned to the ward nurse and the family moved upstairs.

After Shelagh was settled, Sister Julienne knowingly waited for the ward nurse to leave. Not that the nurse really would've minded, given the wink she sent the Sister, but nonetheless, protocol should be attempted. As soon as the nurse was gone, Sister Julienne unhooked the wheels of Shelagh's bed and wheeled her over towards Patrick before locking her in place once more. Tim placed Angela on Patrick's bed and sat beside his mum as she took her husband's hand.

Sister Julienne smiled and left discreetly. What pure science could not heal would be pushed along by love.

* * *

YAY! TOGETHER! And even more good things are happening soon, so WOOOOOO. There's still some angst and sadness because like, THE CIRCUMSTANCES, but things are definitely on the upward swing for the Turners. Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **Summary:** Back to life?

 **A/N:** "Here comes the sun! Do do do do!"

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Tim arrived at the London with Angela two days after Shelagh's transfer to find that not one, but all three of the books (as well as the most recent Lancet) he'd brought her were completely devoured. Things weren't ideal, but there was a lift in the air that came with the promise of hope and it infected everyone in the Turners' lives.

Due to her voluntary secondment, Sister Julienne now visited everyday, much to Shelagh's delight - even if slight embarrassment. The Sister had caught Shelagh snuggled up just a bit more than was publicly acceptable to Patrick more than once now and it never failed to send the blushing Scot under her own set of scratchy sheets. Sister Julienne didn't mind at all, though. Once upon a time and under normal circumstances, the very thought of her former Sister and their mutual colleague in bed together would've been to overwhelming to even consider, but that was then. She now adored Shelagh Turner as much as she ever loved Sister Bernadette and she accepted all that came with the change in title. Additionally, with the health of both parties improving, her opinion on their proximity didn't really matter. There'd been too much sorrow for her to put stock in propriety.

With a small smile, she wondered if she'd catch Shelagh again today as she knocked gently on the door. Not hearing an objection, Sister Julienne pushed through and had to stifle a laugh. Shelagh must have fallen asleep while Tim and Angela were still visiting because not only was she holding Patrick's hand, but said hands were lovingly taped together with an excessive number of plasters. Tim's good humor was clearly back if he was encouraging his sister's plaster art towards mushy situations.

Not wanting to rob Shelagh of much-needed rest, Sister Julienne moved as quietly as possible through her checks. Not much change in Patrick, though steady vitals and improved color were all she could really hope for in his case. Shelagh, however, was another matter. Her fundal height now indicated they might be able to hear the baby's heartbeat, but when the nurse brought it up the other day, Shelagh wouldn't let her anywhere near her stomach. Sister Julienne understood her hesitancy; as long as they didn't check, there was still a possibility the baby was alive. That said, if it things were destined to turn out for the worse, they couldn't postpone the inevitable. Perhaps it was best if she quickly listen while Shelagh was asleep?

As if sensing her friend's traitorous thoughts, Shelagh stirred and her habitual soft moan of new consciousness made Sister Julienne back away. It was only when Shelagh instinctually tried to move her hand to rub her eyes, but found herself quite literally stuck to her husband that Sister Julienne allowed herself to make her presence known.

"Allow me, my dear." she insisted as she delicately removed the plasters from the Turners' skin. Shelagh sighed.

"Angela. I feel awful for falling asleep during visiting hours. Are they still here?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, I'm afraid they left some time ago." Sister Julienne replied. "Although they gave Nonnatus quite an entertaining dinner…" Shelagh perked up, eager for any and all stories of her children's happiness. "Angela asked when you were going to be better and Nurse Franklin informed her that we needed to be patient and make sure baby was safe before you left the hospital. She was understandably confused and questioned why you needed to be in the hospital to keep baby safe."

"Oh no…" Shelagh knew where her inquisitive daughter's mind was heading.

"Not to worry, she was of course spared those particular details, but I should warn you that we did explain that baby was in your tummy and now she is very worried about her mummy eating babies and believes you should stay in hospital so you do not eat her."

Both women laughed heartily, though Sister Julienne noticed Shelagh still held Patrick's hand tightly in her own.

"Shelagh," she paused, knowing there wasn't a comfortable way to ask, "speaking of baby…"

"No." Shelagh gently, but firmly cut her off.

"It really is important that we check-"

"I can't." Shelagh insisted. "I'm sorry, Sister, I just can't." Sister Julienne waited patiently for the explanation she already knew. "If the baby is alive, then I want Patrick with me when we find out, and if it's...if anything else were to happen, I don't think I could take it." She sniffled a bit and turned away into her pillow. Sister Julienne took the hand that wasn't clinging to Patrick and sat beside her, rubbing soothing circles into her skin.

"I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you and your family." she spoke softly. "It has been terribly hard on all of us and we do not share the full burden of your grief. But Shelagh, if...if something unfortunate has happened, then it is not safe for us to let you remain unexamined and you know that."

"I can't take any more loss, Sister." Shelagh mumbled, exhausted. "Not when things are finally starting to improve. I'm so tired."

"I know, my dear." Sister Julienne. "You're doing better than you think."

"Am I?" Shelagh asked doubtfully.

"You've been dealt a terrible hand these past months, but you are still here, and you are still fighting when many would have given up." she insisted.

"It's not fair." Shelagh let slip against her will. "One of the women in the ward told me last week that Mr. Cartwright was sent to prison, possibly for life. She said it as though it might make things better. It doesn't make anything better."

"Punishment for the criminal, while necessary, seldom makes the victim feel better, I've found." Shelagh shook her head and sat up to look at her.

"But that's just it, Sister." Shelagh tried to explain. "I...I'm so angry with him, but...I think I understand him. He had everything taken away from him with no warning and now that I know what that feels like...I'm not saying I would have done what he did, but locking him up for the rest of his life doesn't wake Patrick up or help our baby or calm Timothy and Angela, so what on earth is the point?"

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you." Sister Julienne admitted sadly. "We try our hardest on Earth to regulate mans' mistakes when He cannot, but we are not perfect. The most any of us can try to do in a time of crisis is move forward to a time of peace."

"I don't want to cry anymore." Shelagh said. "It makes my eyes hurt."

Sister Julienne smiled a bit at the observation.

"That it does." she agreed. "But soon you will cry again in a time of joy and you will be glad of the pain."

Shelagh leaned forward and let Sister Julienne hold her close. No more tears flowed, but she'd always felt comfort in the Sister's arms and she needed her strength to regain her own. There was a calm in Sister Julienne's embrace that even Patrick couldn't provide. He loved her so much, but he couldn't shake the impulse to make her feel better when she needed comforting. Sister Julienne didn't do that. With her, Shelagh was free to simply be and take her time. And so, she did.

The two sat for endless minutes in a temporary bubble of safety until finally, Shelagh pulled back.

"Patrick would want me to be examined." She admitted painfully. "He would want me to be as safe and healthy as possible."

"Yes, he would." Sister Julienne agreed. "Would you like me to do it or would you like me to fetch a stethoscope so you may do it yourself?"

"I'm afraid if I do it, I might imagine something that isn't there." Shelagh admitted fearfully. Sister Julienne nodded and walked across the room to her bag.

"I'm scared, Sister." Shelagh whispered.

"I know," she replied, "but I will be here for you no matter what the result, and so will Timothy and Angela, and everyone back at Nonnatus."

Shelagh nodded and Sister Julienne began to place her pinard on the small bump.

"Shmeelah, don bee scrd."

Shelagh and Sister Julienne stared at each other in confusion before realizing there was, in fact, another person in the room.

"Patrick?!" Shelagh gasped as she nearly threw herself towards him.

"Sheeelah?"

His speech was groggy and muffled, but he was definitely saying her name.

"He's awake, fetch the doctor, Sister!"

* * *

WOOOOOOOO! Again, sorry for the update delay, but I hope it was worth it! Thank you so much to everyone who's following this story!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 **Summary:** A steady heartbeat

 **A/N** : Moving forward!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Patrick drifted in and out of consciousness for the next couple of days while doctors and nurses fussed about and asked him endless questions while Shelagh simultaneously chided them for over working him and gently shook him awake to answer if he drifted off. She had no idea what to do with herself. When he was awake, she talked incessantly, terrified of tiring him out or putting him in anymore pain if he spoke too much. When he was asleep, she drove herself insane waiting for him to wake up again. Numerous doctors had suggested she move back to the ward now that the largest scares were past, but she wouldn't hear of it. Fortunately for Shelagh, if unfortunately for the hospital staff, Sister Julienne remained on her side and she was allowed to stay.

It was for the best, overall. Tim and Angela were far happier seeing their parents together, though they desperately wanted them out of the hospital and safe at home. Nonnatus treated them more than well, but it wasn't the same. Angela missed her parents reading her to sleep at night and Timothy missed the comforts of knowing they were there to help with homework or smirk at him giving lip. He even missed their mushy stuff - at least it would show they were happy - but he would never admit that to anyone.

He hoped, at least, that Shelagh would be home soon. He overheard Sister Julienne speaking to Nurse Franklin when he woke up in the night for water. He knew they would tell him off for listening in, but he also knew he and Angela were definitely being spared details and he felt he deserved to know.

Now, a part of him wished he didn't.

He hadn't understood that they didn't know if the smallest Turner-to-be was alive or not. As far as he knew, Shelagh just needed to rest and would come home once the threat of a miscarriage was gone. He had no idea she might come home with no baby at all. It wasn't until this stark realization that Tim even realized how attached he'd grown to the idea of a new sibling. Unspeakable mushy stuff aside, he knew how much his parents wanted this and once everything fell apart, the hope of a new life gave him something to look forward to. Things were improving: his dad was awake and healing, his mum was far less panicked, but he still might never meet this little soul and that didn't sit well with him.

"Something on your mind, Timothy dearest?" Shelagh asked. Angela looked up at her mum from her lap and turned her head towards her brother as well. He must've been pondering longer than he thought.

"Not really," he lied, "just a bit tired."

"Are you not sleeping well at Nonnatus?" she asked. He could see the follow up questions churning in her head. Great, she was in mum detective mode.

"It's fine." he insisted. "Just lots to think about lately." That wasn't a lie. He was thrilled beyond belief that his father was awake - or at least just sleeping - like now, not unconscious, but he still feared for both him and Shelagh and it kept him awake more often that he would like. That, and sharing a room with Angela without their parents to comfort her meant he was on nightmare duty and that alone came with its own bouts of insomnia.

"Timmy stay awake so no monsters." Angela explained. Shelagh sighed, no wonder the poor boy looked exhausted.

"I'm sorry, Timothy. I should be the one comforting her. You need your rest." Shelagh apologized.

"So do you, mum." he insisted. "It's okay. And you'll be home soon, so…" he paused and glanced at Angela. He needed to phrase this correctly. "Mum...do you think...could Sister Julienne listen for a heart-"

"Timothy, please." Shelagh stopped him gently.

"But mum-"

"We'll find out by the end of today." she informed him. "Sister Julienne and I discussed and she agreed to let me wait a few more days so that your father could possibly be present. Today was last day, though."

"Oh." Timothy realized. "I'm sorry, mum."

"Why mummy sad?" Angela asked. "Daddy better!" Shelagh smiled.

"Yes, angel, daddy is better." Shelagh agreed fondly. "Do you remember why mummy is in hospital?" Tim and Shelagh watched Angela carefully think.

"To make baby safe?" Angela suggested.

"Yes, darling, that's right." Shelagh affirmed with a soft caress to the head. "Well, today, we are going to find out if baby is safe and if baby is safe, then mummy will come home."

"MUMMY HOME!" Angela squealed and started to bounce, but Shelagh quickly grounded her before she could fall. "MUMMY HOME! MUMMY HOME!"

"Ange, sit!" Tim scolded. Shelagh raised her eyebrow and he smiled sheepishly. He'd had to be much more of a parent than a brother lately and they both knew it.

"Sorry Timmy." Angela apologized. Shelagh was thoroughly impressed. She surely hadn't given Tim the credit he deserved. "Mummy?" Angela's little voice drew her attention once more. "What if baby not safe?"

Shelagh's smile faltered, but she hoped Angela didn't catch it. Tim certainly did if his concerned glance was anything to go by. "If baby is not safe…" Shelagh spoke slowly, "then we will do whatever the doctors and nurses say, sweetheart."

"Mummy not come home?" she asked sadly.

"I don't know, Angela." Shelagh admitted. "We'll have to see."

She expected Angela to fight back or throw a tantrum. It almost hurt more to see her acceptance. Had things really been wrong for so long?

A gentle knock sounded at the door and Shelagh's stomach dropped. Sister Julienne said she would come to check on baby at the end of visiting hours. It couldn't possibly be time already. Without fail, though, Sister Julienne quietly made her way through the door, an apologetic, but determined look upon her face.

"Sister."

"I'm truly sorry, Shelagh, but we cannot put it off any longer. It isn't safe for you or for baby." Sister Julienne insisted.

"I know." Shelagh sighed.

"Mum, do you want us to stay?" Timothy asked, though he knew she would refuse in the event that the news wasn't what they'd hoped.

"No, Timothy. Thank you." she replied. "Why don't you take Angela home."

Timothy nodded and the two children said their goodbyes and moved to leave.

"Timothy," Shelagh stopped him. "Sister Julienne will let you know the results when she arrives back at Nonnatus." she looked to Sister Julienne for approval and confirmation and was relieved to find both. Timothy smiled and Shelagh loved the way his height puffed up just a bit at the newfound trust. Too soon, though, he and Angela were gone and Shelagh and Sister Julienne were left in silence.

"Would you like me to wake him?" Sister Julienne asked. "He's usually merely asleep now, and I'm positive he would not mind."

"He shouldn't have to take care of me." Shelagh shook her head sadly. "Neither should Tim. I feel so foolish."

"You are not foolish, Shelagh." Sister Julienne promised. "And it is not a matter of Dr. Turner taking care of you. You know as well as I do that he would want to be a part of this moment, for better or for worse."

"She's right, darling." Patrick's sleepy voice muttered from next to her. Shelagh rolled gently towards him and brushed the hair back from his eyes. He couldn't coat it with Brylcreem everyday in the hospital and while it drove him slightly crazy to constantly have his hair flop over his eyes, Shelagh found it utterly adorable.

"I thought you were asleep." she whispered. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't, my love." he promised. "I've been awake for some time. Tim sounded serious, though, and I didn't want to interrupt." In the times he had managed to be awake over the past couple of days, Patrick noticed Tim's reluctance to talk about his feelings on his parents' medical struggles while he could hear and he didn't want to take away Tim's time with Shelagh.

"You could never interrupt, Patrick." she said. "We're so grateful for anytime with you."

"Better enjoy that while I can, then." Patrick quipped. Shelagh wasn't amused, but her fear eclipsed any impending argument. "Is it time?" he asked, though both women in the room noticed his gaze flitted to Sister Julienne rather than his wife for the answer.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Sister Julienne replied. Patrick tried to sit up and Shelagh and Sister Julienne immediately shouted.

"Dr. Turner, thats not-"

"Patrick stop!"

He winced and his hand shot to his side.

"What on earth were you thinking?" Shelagh asked horrified. "You are in no state to roll over by yourself let alone get out of bed, Patrick Turner!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know." he insisted as deep breaths passed his lips in an effort to alleviate the pain of his stubbornness. Eventually the pain subsided and he turned his eyes back to Sister Julienne. "Sister, could you possibly help me onto my better side?"

Shelagh went to protest, but Sister Julienne waved away her words with a smile. Agonizingly slow minutes passed as Shelagh watched them with baited breath. She couldn't stand the grimace on Patrick's face, but deep down, she knew Sister Julienne wouldn't have given in to him without good reason.

"Shelagh, my dear, I'm going to roll your bed back just a little." the nun offered before moving Shelagh's bed just far enough away from her husband's that she could fit her legs in between. Shelagh understood and the notion brought tears to her eyes.

"You're going to let him?" she asked in disbelief.

"You're not the only one who can plot while the other sleeps." Patrick grinned. Shelagh looked back to a beaming Sister Julienne. Her ridiculous, crafty family.

"Though the plan did not include him trying to move on his own." Sister Julienne remarked unimpressed. Patrick had the decency to look slightly sheepish, but most of his attention was now on the eye-level pregnant belly of his wife. God, he'd been asleep for so long. The last time he'd truly looked at Shelagh's form, she was barely showing. Now, her pregnancy was obvious to anyone who knew to look.

"May I?" Sister Julienne asked and Patrick nodded as she moved forward to place the stethoscope in his ears. Shelagh reached forward to guide his hand safely across the small divide to rest on her stomach.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his eyes pouring love at the fear in her own. She nodded nervously and Sister Julienne moved to Shelagh's side to hold her hand. Patrick gently moved the instrument around, frown increasing as silence greeted him again and again. Shelagh was close to giving up, when suddenly, he lit up with more color than he'd show in weeks.

"Patrick?" she asked, not quite daring to accept the hope in her own voice.

"Listen." he insisted. He held the stethoscope steady as Sister Julienne passed the ear piece to Shelagh. The thump-thump-thump was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard and her smile spread so highly into her eyes that it pushed tears of joy onto her skin.

"Oh, Sister you were right." Shelagh cried. "My eyes ache, but I am ever so glad for the pain."

In that moment, Shelagh felt for the first time that everything was going to be okay. How could it not be with her husband and her mother beside her, and her child's beating heart in her ears?

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Thank you guys so much for reading! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 **Summary:** The past will always find us.

 **A/N:** Yo. This story is really hard to write right now, so I'm sorry again. I do, at least, have an idea of where I want to go now! SHOUTOUT to my Beta, catalynmj1015 for encouraging me through my writer's block and helping me keep the action going. :D

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

With Shelagh safely out of harm's way and Patrick steadily growing stronger, the Turners were released from the London. Neither were particularly thrilled with the idea of further bedrest, but the idea of being nestled in their flat, with their children, was worth the forced condition of a live-in nurse. Sister Julienne offered, of course (after all, she was already essentially fulfilling that role), but after seeing how guilt-ridden both Shelagh and Patrick looked at the thought, she agreed to a rota. After all, Shelagh would be out of bed before long and Sister Julienne knew once that happened, the little Scottish fireball would insist on helping her husband herself. "Though," Sister Julienne surmised with a grin, "if heaps of meals continued to arrive at their door along with a couple hours of help, Shelagh wouldn't have the heart to push them away…"

And so, yet another new routine commenced just as the last one began to settle.

The Nonnatuns stayed in 12-hour shifts, one in the daytime and one in the evening, and for the most part, things were easier; even if a little embarrassing. It was one thing to be taken care of in the hospital by strangers. It was quite a different thing to be taken care of by friends (even if those friends were professionals) in one's own home. Patrick proved to be a much better patient when unconscious than when awake, especially as every movement required assistance and he wasn't keen on having his colleagues (or his wife, really, but he'd cross that bridge when they got there) helping him eat or use the facilities. Shelagh, meanwhile, was struggling with not being allowed to really help Patrick, beyond talking to him and slowly watching her flat descend into untidiness.

It wasn't that Timothy wasn't trying his hardest to keep things clean, it was simply that he was a teenage boy, and she was extremely efficient. It didn't matter how many times he attempted to straighten the tablecloth, somehow it remained crooked. Meanwhile, Timothy was struggling a bit with having the seemingly endless parade of nurses in the house. He loved the Nonnatuns, he really did, and living with them while his parents were in the hospital was actually quite nice. But for him too, sharing his own space was different than sharing theirs. Tim wasn't thrilled that he had to feel embarrassed coming to breakfast in his pajamas in his own home…amongst other things…like when Trixie did the laundry and he walked in while she was folding his underwear. He couldn't look her in the eye for days. The only one who seemed purely joyous about the arrangement was Angela. Her parents were back, her mother was there to read her bedtime stories, she was back in her own bed, and her nurse friends visited every day. Life was good.

At the end of the day, though, the minor irritations ebbed and flowed as they did normally in the Turner household, and the light of day saw heaps of cooperation and love that even Shelagh didn't know her family possessed.

The nights were different.

At first, Patrick was so tired from healing that sleep was forcibly peaceful, as his body gave in to the needed rest. With growing strength came growing dreams, and with growing dreams came growing nightmares.

Shelagh didn't even know they were happening at first. She would occasionally wake from back aches or a desperate need to pee and see Patrick wasn't entirely asleep, but she assumed it was merely soreness and if it was anything more, he would wake her or call out for that night's companion. Eventually, he did wake her, though not at all how she expected.

She returned to bed in the middle of the night after a trip to the smallest room and a quick stretch and instinctively curled herself into him. She found his breathing labored and his skin flush with sweat.

"Patrick! Patrick, wake up!" Panic crept into her brain at the thought of complications or torn stitches. She was not about to see him rushed back to the London. "Patrick, darling." She grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to shake him awake. At the touch of her fingers to his skin, his own hands leapt from their grip against the pillows and his nails sunk into her. "Patrick, please, you're hurting me! Stop!" He couldn't, though.

"No, I won't let you." He muttered fiercely. "Not like this. Get away from her!" His clenched fingers tightened further.

"Patsy! Nurse Mount!" Shelagh hollered towards the door and sent up a prayer when she heard the rapid door slam in response.

Patsy swung open the bedroom door in record time. As light flooded the room, both nurses gasped as they saw where Patrick was unknowingly drawing blood from his wife's skin. Shelagh saw something almost imperceptible shift behind Patsy's eyes, but let it go as she rushed to Patrick's side of the bed.

"Dr. Turner, it's Nurse Mount, can you hear me?" Patsy asked. She delicately tried to pry him away from Shelagh, but he lashed out.

"I won't let you touch her!" he screamed in terror and Patsy let go immediately.

"We need to calm him down." She explained as calmly as she could to Shelagh, though she could see her eyes were welling up in pain. "I can't get him off you like this. He doesn't know who we are."

"He's had nightmares before, but not like this." Shelagh gasped. "He always knows I'm here!"

"He thinks he's protecting you. He doesn't understand." Patsy replied.

She paused. If the Turners had discussed Patrick's experiences in the war then Shelagh could help the situation greatly, but if not, then she could be about to open an enormous hole in their marriage. _Worth the risk_ , she decided.

"Did he ever give you something specific to say or do if…something like this happened?" she asked tentatively. Shelagh took a few deep breaths before a fleeting memory broke through the pain.

"I don't know if this will work, but could you fetch my perfume from the table and my scarf from the door?" Shelagh asked, her clinical mind turning as her wife's heart hoped. Patsy readily grabbed the items and sprayed the scarf. "How did you know?" Shelagh asked.

"Makes sense, really." Patsy replied, not willing to admit she'd once done the same with Delia's smell to keep from having a panic attack after the bike accident. She held the scarf tightly to Patrick's mouth to force him to breathe through his nose and slowly, his hands released Shelagh's arms and he returned to a peaceful slumber.

The two women breathed in the new-found silence for a few moments before Patsy spoke.

"Do you want me to help you to the couch for the rest of the night?" she offered sadly to a shaking Shelagh.

"No." Shelagh shook her head. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

"I'm not entirely sure that's a good idea." Patsy replied honestly. She felt confident that Shelagh had a better understanding of what was happening than she was letting on, but she'd also seen what war neurosis could do to a person and there was no doubt in her mind that Patrick was suffering from memories of being shot. Shelagh was her patient as well and she needed to keep them both safe.

"I know it's not what you would advise, but it's what I need to do." Shelagh insisted. "He nearly died for me, Patsy, he jumped in front of a gun." Shelagh sniffled a bit, but didn't let go. It wasn't the time. Crying was reserved for when she was alone and others were not dependent upon her keeping her head. Patsy sighed. She wasn't going to win this argument.

"Will you at least let me dress the cuts?" Patsy asked wryly. "Or would you rather I disappear so you can dust the flat and get that infected?"

Shelagh glared affectionately. "That's not fair."

"You're the only person at Nonnatus who cleans more efficiently than I do, and I have to say, I'm rather offended by it." Patsy teased gently. "I'll go gather a bit of water and some bandages. You stay right here." She squeezed Shelagh's hand and left the room.

Shelagh traced the blood. There'd been so much blood in her life since that day in the clinic, but this was different. This wasn't the act of a drunken stranger or an act of God; _Patrick_ did this to her. Patrick, _her_ Patrick, drew blood from her arms in an act of violence. _But not really_ , her brain argued. She agreed with the thought. She'd seen him in the throes of a war nightmare before tonight. The night he opened up to her about Northfield, the memories must have been fresh in his mind because he woke her screaming at 1am in a panic.

He was trying to protect her.

God, she wished she knew from what, or from whom.

Patrick shifted beside her and she jumped. She hated that she jumped.

"Shelaghiseverythingokay?" he slurred. Her sudden movement must've woken him. Shelagh frantically grabbed the sheet to wrap her arms so he wouldn't see. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel guilty or wary around her. The fabric stung against the fresh cuts, but she swallowed the wince.

"Everything's fine, dearest, go back to sleep." She whispered lovingly.

"Why are the lights on?" He asked, blinking against the brightness. "Is it the baby? Did you call Nurse Mount?" His hand instinctively reached for her stomach and her heart ached. He truly had no idea and it was going to destroy him when he found out.

"It's alright now, Patrick, really." She insisted. "Patsy's just fetching me…a glass of water. Baby's perfectly fine. _I'm_ perfectly fine." Patrick's furrowed brow remained. "Patrick?"

"Something feels wrong." He said. "I can't explain it, I…it doesn't matter." He shook his head and made to turn away from her onto his side as always, but she stopped him.

"Patrick, you know you have to lie on your back." She reminded him gently.

"Right." He sighed. "Sorry. Half a century of old habits die hard." He grinned and Shelagh gave him a quick kiss before helping him ease back into the mattress.

"Cheeky man." She teased as she brushed her fingers through his hair.

Patsy softly cleared her throat from the doorway. Shelagh's breath caught for a moment before she saw Patsy holding a glass of water and a knowing look. Patrick waved to Patsy before closing his eyes once more.

They would discuss it in the morning.

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Thank you guys so much for reading! BIG HUGZ


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 **Summary:** "Whatever happens here, we remain." Also, Patsy remains a BRICKtm.

 **A/N:** Hey yallllllll. Welcome back to fallout angst! But also, I'm working hard to balance every chapter that has angst with some cuteness and sentiment. :) Shoutout to Catalynmj for being an AWESOME beta!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Patrick slept soundly through the remainder of the night. Shelagh knew that, because she never managed to close her eyes after the incident. The early hours of the morning ticked slowly by as she watched his chest rise and fall and her fingers traced the bandages on her arms. She'd never felt so stupid. She'd felt helpless and hopeless before during their entire ordeal, but she'd never felt stupid. She should've seen it coming. They'd been married for three years, she'd sat beside him while he told her all about the war and Northfield, and she'd held him when he told her about the nightmares where he'd accidentally hurt Marianne. She knew it was in him, she should've known it could've been brought forth by a shooting.

A _shooting_ , for heaven's sake. Of course he was traumatized.

She tried to think back to what he was saying during the nightmare, but she could only remember bits and pieces. The only thing she knew was that he was trying to protect her.

 _From what? What horrors lie in your brain, Patrick dearest?_

Patrick stirred briefly and tried to turn on his side. Shelagh smiled softly and held her breath while she gently coaxed him to return to his back. _How many times have you done that with no one to stop you, Patrick?_ She wondered to herself. Stubborn man, he was going to tear his stitches in his sleep.

From down the hall, Shelagh could hear the faint sounds of Angela scuffling across the room room with Tim's name babbling on her lips and braced herself for the inevitable teenage groan that would soon follow. For the sake of their recovery, a part of her was glad Angela now found so much solace in her brother, but she couldn't completely ignore the sting of her daughter not instinctually coming to her instead. How much more would that horrible day take from her? From them?

Angela's hurried footsteps left the childrens' room and grew louder as she padded towards the master bedroom. Shelagh could hear their conversation through the door.

" _Mummy! Daddy! Wake ups!"_

" _Ange, shh, we're supposed to let them sleep, remember?"_ Tim gently scolded. Angela's behavior hadn't changed in the mornings since they'd returned home, but no one was truly upset. Just like every morning, she wanted her parents, and just like every morning, Tim stopped her from barging in and Shelagh resigned herself to another moment of rest.

This morning, though, the respite was welcome. How on earth was she supposed to explain how she went to bed fine and woke up bandaged because their father attacked her in his sleep?

" _Good morning, Miss Turner."_ Patsy greeted Angela. " _What do you say you and Tim help me put breakfast together for mum and dad before Nurse Franklin arrives?"_

" _Trix!"_ Angela shrieked happily before the trio of feet and voices disappeared into the kitchen.

"Mmm…rr the children up?" Patrick asked sleepily. Shelagh subtly pulled the covers up to her neck. She didn't want to scare him before they could talk.

Patrick turned his head towards her and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably into the mattress. He hated sleeping on his back, but the faster he could heal, the faster he could sleep holding Shelagh again and that was enough to keep him horizontal.

"Are you cold, darling?" he asked, concerned. The room was quite warm to him, though she did tend to run a bit colder. Still, the last thing they needed was for her to be running a fever and the sight of her completely under the blanket threw him a bit - as did the worried look on her face. "Shelagh?" He turned on the lamp, reached his hand out to feel her forehead, and froze.

Dried blood coated his nails.

He threw the blanket off himself to check his stitches and his heart plummeted when he realized the blood hadn't come from himself.

"Shelagh?" his voice was shaking and Shelagh cursed herself for not having the foresight to clean his fingers as well as the wounds they left behind.

"Patrick, it's alright. I promise you, no serious harm was done." Shelagh spoke as calmly as she could, but she knew it was for naught as he slowly pulled the blanket down and away from her. The gauze on her arms glared back at him and he paled.

"I...I didn't know…" he stuttered, "oh God, Shelagh...I'm so sorry...what have I done?"

"I'm not angry, love." she promised. She meant it. She was never angry. There was a part of her deep in the night that was terrified of him, and it wrecked her, but that part was gone with morning light and only sympathy for him remained.

"I hurt you!" he cried. "I promised I would never hurt you."

"You didn't mean to." she insisted. She framed his face with her hands and forced him to look at her as her thumbs caressed soft patterns on his cheeks. "You had a nightmare and you were scared, Patrick."

His face was towards her, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn to her arms in horror.

"Who's coming to help today?" he asked gravely.

"Nurse Franklin, I believe." Shelagh replied, remembering Patsy's remark. Patrick nodded.

"I'll have her bring a cot and move me." he declared. "I won't let it happen again."

Another time, this would've been a moment when he walked away from her, decision made and final, but he couldn't run from her this time.

"Absolutely not." Shelagh insisted firmly. "You will stay right where you are, Patrick Turner." She saw him tense and the determination grew behind his eyes.

"Shelagh-"

"No!" she snapped. "I will not let this take anything more away from our family. I would rather have you near me having a nightmare than on the other side of the room where I can't touch you."

"I will not be responsible for causing any more pain!" he yelled at her.

He'd never yelled at her like that before.

"Is everything alright in here?" Patsy burst in, quickly realizing what she thought was physical pain was actually an emotional fight. "Sorry to intrude." she swiftly apologized. "Um, the children almost have breakfast ready. Shall I have them bring it up or would you like a moment?"

Shelagh and Patrick glanced at each other. Their eyes were watery, their skin flushed. Behind their hurt gazes, however, still lay an impenetrable layer of love and forgiveness. It was buried a bit, but it remained.

"I think we need a moment to get Patrick's hands cleaned up," Shelagh indicated softly and Patsy nodded, "but then yes, breakfast would be lovely." Patsy looked to Patrick and he agreed.

"Of course," Patsy replied, "I'll just grab a cloth." she paused. "I don't know if it was my place or not, but I should let you know you don't have to worry about Timothy and Angela asking questions." Both Turners looked up at her in shock. "No, no, I didn't tell them what happened." Patsy explained. "Timothy had a back issue of the Lancet on the table discussing Cholestasis* and I thought it might be a good cover since it's on his mind. It'll explain the bandages and the scratch marks. Angela's too little to fully understand, I think." She looked up to see both of them with tears in their eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Shelagh sighed with a smile. "I just have to keep reminding myself how truly grateful I am for everything you and the rest of Nonnatus does for us everyday."

"Thank you, Nurse Mount." Patrick spoke sincerely. "You have no idea what that means...and thank you for last night as well...I'm sorry about...everything."

"It's no trouble at all Dr. Turner." she replied. "Shelagh helped a great deal. I couldn't have done it without her."

Patrick gazed over lovingly to his wife. Maybe it was true. Maybe there wasn't anything they couldn't overcome.

"I know what you mean."

He took her hand as Patsy left to grab a washcloth.

He wasn't going anywhere.

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*Cholestasis: an itching condition caused by hormone fluctuations during the late second trimester and early third trimester of pregnancy.

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Thank you guys so much for reading! HUGZ.


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